by Amy Sumida
“I knew that I was named after the flower, but I didn't know why,” I whispered. Then something occurred to me. “Landry, for years I thought I imagined it, but I remember there being other people in the house the night it burned down. I remember my mother hiding me. Is that all true?”
“It was the Bleiten,” he said with a growl. “Those fuckers found your father. I'm assuming he didn't tell them shit because when I showed up, your place was on fire and both your parents were dead. It wasn't the flames that killed them, kid.”
“Where was I?” I asked in a low voice.
“Hiding in a cabinet; as you remember,” he confirmed. “Your mom put you there and told you not to come out; no matter what.”
“So, I didn't,” I murmured as a hazy memory surfaced.
My mother was whispering urgently, “Get inside, Amara,”
“I don't want to,” I whimpered.
“You get in there, and you don't come out, baby.” She shoved me inside. “No matter what you hear; don't come out. You promise me; stay hidden until someone you trust comes for you.”
“I promise,” I whispered.
It was dark and there were cobwebs in the corners, but I wasn't going to disobey my mother. I stayed in that place until Landry found me. And that was the last time that I saw her. There had been terrible sounds; great whooshes of air, men shouting, and my mother screaming. Then came heat and smoke. But I didn't cough; the smoke didn't bother me. It was the fire that hurt. When the flames finally reached me, I had screamed. My body kept repairing itself, but it also kept burning. I remained in a constant state of first-degree burns.
“You came in and pulled me out,” I said in amazement. “You could have been killed, Land. You're extremely flammable.”
“I heard you screaming, kid.” He gave my hand a pat. “I went in and grabbed you, and I hid your face in my jacket as I took you past the bodies of your parents. You were all blistered and your hair was gone, but still, you didn't come out of that cabinet until you saw me. And you healed in seconds, Amara. As soon as I got you out of the house, your hair grew back and your skin lightened to a healthy pink. I think you would have survived, even if you had stayed in that cabinet.”
“It hurt.” I swallowed roughly. “I would have come out eventually.”
“Healing fast doesn't take the pain away. That was the one thing your father couldn't cure.” Landry poured himself a shot and downed it. “The Bleiten murdered your parents but they left without the elixir, and that was the end of it. So I thought.”
“And now, they're back?” I asked. “What can they be thinking? That my father told an eight-year-old child how to make the elixir? I didn't even know that he gave it to me.”
“It's in your blood,” Kyrian said as he took the stool beside mine.
Landry grimaced as I narrowed my stare at the Arc.
“In my blood?” I asked in a deadly tone. “They think they can extract it?”
“Reverse engineer it; for lack of a better term,” Kyrian said with a nod.
“And the Triari don't want to do that?” I asked skeptically.
“No,” he said firmly. “Our king knows that immortality is not something that should be pursued. Life has an ending for a reason.”
“Easy for you to say,” Landry snorted. “You fuckers live a thousand years on the average.”
“And how long do you think you'll live?” Kyrian shot back.
“I don't know; I'm evolved,” Landry said gruffly. “No one can say for certain with an evolved.”
“I think it's safe to assume that you'll last at least as long as a Sequoia,” Kyrian said. “That's over three-thousand years.”
I widened my eyes at Landry.
“Possible, but not probable,” Landry said.
“At least I'll have a friend for awhile,” I whispered.
“Hey, kid.” Landry took my hand. “Don't you worry about the future, okay? That shit takes care of itself. We gotta focus on the present.”
“And presently, there's an Ungaru tracker after Amara,” Kyrian said.
“They got a fucking blood-sucker on her trail?” Landry hissed. “What's he tracking her with?”
“It's possible that the Bleiten kept a sample of Jetek's blood from the assassination,” Kyrian said. “With it, they'd be able to supply the tracker with a familial link. I'm assuming that's how it's being done.”
Leave it to a Triari to be coldly reasonable, even when talking about one of the most repellent alien races around. The Ungaru are the truth behind the myth of vampires; they prolong their lives by drinking blood from other living creatures. Animals don't have enough life energy for them, so that leaves people. The Ungaru got very good at discerning different blood types and finding even the smallest traces of blood. This made them extremely skilled trackers; as long as you had a blood sample to supply them with. They made excellent assassins for the same reasons. I suppose when you have a talent for something, it's wise to pursue a career in it.
“The bastards,” Landry snarled. “They kept Jetek's blood? What kind of sick shit is that?”
“The smart kind,” Kyrian said. “It's obviously come in handy.”
“But the Ungaru won't be able to find me unless I bleed,” I pointed out. “So, I'll be careful to not cur myself.”
“If the Ungaru gets close enough to you, he may be able to smell your blood through your skin,” Kyrian said.
“Then I'll be sure not to get close to an Ungaru,” I countered crisply as I stood. “Goodnight, gentlemen. It's been an illuminating evening.”
“Hold on.” Kyrian grabbed my arm. “I'll walk you home.”
“No, thank you.” I eased my arm out of his grip and backed up a step. “I'll be passing on your offer of protection. Thank you just the same.”
“You can't be serious?” Kyrian scoffed. “After all you just heard, you're not going to accept my help?”
“I don't know what you're after.” I lifted my chin. “Frankly, I don't trust you.”
Landry chuckled.
“I don't care, Amara,” Kyrian said. “I have my orders and... what the fuck?”
As he'd been rattling on about my poor choices, I'd been collecting colors around me; colors exactly like those of my surroundings. Basically; I'd made myself invisible. And then I tip-toed out of The Wilds so that damn angel couldn't hear my heels clicking on the wood floor.
Chapter Three
The next day, I was called in to translate for the President. Yes, of the United States. I'm damn good at my job, and I'm also the only supernatural translator who can speak the languages of all the known alien races as well as most of the human races of Earth. I hadn't thought that I was needed to translate an alien language this time, but I was mistaken.
I was about to follow the President of the United Arab Emirates out of the Oval Office when President Matthew Colton of the United States grabbed my arm and quietly asked me to stay behind. I said goodbye to the U.A.E. President and hung back while he and his entourage were escorted out of the White House by secret service agents.
“Yes, Mr. President?” I asked after the door had shut.
“There has been an incident involving a supernatural,” he said grimly. “Would you be willing to work with Homeland Security in their investigations? They need someone discreet who can translate alien languages.”
“Sir, no disrespect intended, but this must be a hell of an incident to compel you to ask me personally.”
“Any major crime involving supernaturals can be a matter of great importance, but this one is particularly sensitive. The Department of Homeland Security conducted their initial investigations and then brought the results to me,” President Colton said. “I'll be monitoring things from this point forward, but if you agree, you'd be working directly with DHS. I don't know how long it will take—it's already been two days—but I can't imagine them needing you for more than a few hours at the most. Are you available now by any chance?”
“I can hardly r
efuse.” I gave him a soft smile.
President Colton was the youngest president America had ever had. At thirty-nine, he was single, dashingly handsome, and utterly charming. He had won the presidency despite all of those qualities. Your average single woman would love him as a boyfriend, but most Americans wanted more than a pretty face in office. And they got it. Colton was smart, persuasive, and diplomatic; he had yet to make a change that I didn't fully support. However, that pretty face combined with his present occupation made him the most eligible bachelor in America.
The President had been romantically linked to a few actresses and even an heiress, but no one could roast him for his dalliances. He was a single man and America loves a good romance—or twelve. The Secret Service was having a hell of a time protecting President Colton, his privacy, and his girlfriends, and Colton's romantic affairs made the news as often as his political ones. You'd think with all of the women he'd dated, the Secret Service would also be up to their armpits in ex-girlfriend drama and even a few scandals. But Colton tended to leave his ladies smiling, and not a single one had a bad word to say about him. That alone was impressive. He intrigued me. What was it about this man that made women spout his praises even after they parted ways?
“I wouldn't ask if I didn't need you badly, Amara,” President Colton purred.
“Are you trying to flirt me into saying yes?” I asked him with narrowed eyes. “Because it will take more than innuendos to sway me, Mr. President. Besides, I've already agreed to it.”
POTUS laughed and then claimed my hand to kiss it gallantly. “Then I think I'll accept your agreement before I screw it up by saying anything else.”
“Very wise,” I noted.
“Elaine will have an agent drive you to the DHS building and escort you to the Deputy Secretary,” he said. “Thank you, Amara; this has the potential to turn catastrophic.”
I went serious immediately. “Then it's my honor to help, Mr. President.”
I knew President Colton had a personal interest in me; I could see it in his aura. Yes; colors could come in handy in all sorts of ways. But Colton had never acted on his attraction, and I valued my job too much to encourage him beyond the meaningless flirtation we occasionally shared. So, I kept it professional as he walked me to the door, and I didn't say anything when his hand brushed my elbow. A few dates with the President, even one as charming as Colton, was not worth losing my White House connections.
“Ms. Madison.” Elaine, the President's secretary, waved to a man standing near her desk. “This is Agent Kelson; he'll drive you to Homeland Security.”
“Agent Kelson.” I nodded to the man.
“Ma'am.” He nodded back and waved me down the hallway.
Kelson led me through corridors I'd never been down before and then out into a parking lot. There wasn't much conversation between us on the short drive to the Department of Homeland Security, nor was their much on the walk through the building. He said more to security than to me. But then we were met by Special Agent Theresa Longchamp, who'd been sent to bring me through the maze of busy offices, and I tried to dismiss him.
“Thank you for your help, Agent Kelson,” I said; expecting him to leave me in Longchamp's hands.
“I'll be with you until you're finished, Ma'am,” Kelson said. “And then I'll drive you home.”
“You must be important,” SA Longchamp noted.
“Not as far as I know,” I murmured with a confused look at Kelson.
But Kelson had gone quiet again.
“Thank you for agreeing to translate for us,” SA Longchamp said as she led us through a large, open room full of desks and then down a side corridor. “Trying to find a translator to handle this has been a Herculean task.”
“I'm happy to help.”
“I've been told to brief you along the way,” she said as she nodded to another agent in passing.
“I'm all ears.”
“There was a bank robbery two days ago,” SA Longchamp began. “A security guard was wounded badly and a few civilians received minor injuries. The robbers were a team of supernaturals who spoke a language we've yet to identify. All of our translators are stumped.”
“A bank robbery?” I asked in surprise.
“I know it doesn't seem important enough to warrant this kind of attention,” Longchamp said. “But the abilities and attitudes of these supernaturals have everyone on edge. They didn't care that they were seen by civilians or even caught on camera; the cover-up alone has been a nightmare.”
“And you think they might be working themselves up to something larger?” I asked.
“It was the Wells Fargo, just three blocks from the White House,” she said with a heavy look my way.
“Shit,” I whispered. “That's a little close to home.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It felt deliberate. You'll see the CCTV recordings and be able to judge for yourself, but in our opinion, they don't seem as interested in the money as they do in the intimidation of their hostages. When the police showed up, the supernaturals took great pleasure in walking right out the front doors and disarming them with their abilities.”
“Disarming them how?” I asked. “What abilities?”
“Several ways,” Longchamp said. “Some handguns were torn out of police hands by unseen forces, some were heated to burning temperatures, and some were frozen. All of the attacks came at once; the police were unable to fire a single shot.”
I nodded. “Those are all common, supernatural abilities.”
“They don't appear so common on the video,” she said as she opened a door and waved me inside a room. “And the police officers didn't find them ordinary at all.”
“Fair enough,” I said as I moved past her.
Inside the room, there were rows of desks set in front of a wall of monitors. Several screens showed subjects on surveillance; all men. At the desks, the computers were manned by grim-faced people, and to the side of the room, large boards were devoted to pictures of video stills and close-ups. I glanced around in fascination at the muted but frantic activity as I followed Longchamp through the thick of it.
“I don't give a shit if she's the best translator in the fucking world,” a bald man growled at a slightly younger fellow. “We shouldn't be letting one of those freaks into our building, much less our investigation.”
“Sir, I think you should know—” the second man's eyes were rounded and focused on me.
“What if she's a spy and takes this information back to them? What if she's working for them?” Baldie cut off the other guy.
“Thinking that I would know every supernatural simply because I am one is akin to thinking that you know every bald man on the planet,” I said dryly. “I can assure you that I have nothing to do with this crime, but if you'd prefer to work with a fully human translator, I'm more than happy to go home, kick off my heels, and leave you to shine your head and search for one. You won't find anyone with my skills, but you may be able to find a few who can pool their efforts.”
The bald man turned around crisply and glared at me as soon as I began my speech. As I spoke, his shiny head turned red; along with his aura—a bright, furious red.
“Sir, this is Ms. Amara Madison; our translator,” SA Longchamp introduced me. “She's come at the President's personal request.”
“If you leak anything, Missy, I'll throw you in a pit so deep you'll never see daylight again,” the bald man said.
“Who are you?” I asked blandly. “I like to be formally introduced to people before I exchange patronizing insults with them.”
“I am Walter Lathem, the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security,” he snarled importantly. “Who the fuck are you?”
“She just introduced me,” I said as if he were an idiot. “But since you seem to be going senile, I'll tell you who I am; I'm a woman who doesn't work for people who threaten me or call me 'Missy.' Agent Kelson,” I turned to my SS escort, “I believe it's time to leave.”
“Yes, Ma'am,” Ke
lson said immediately.
We began to walk out.
“Get your ass back here!” The Deputy Secretary shouted.
“Was I unclear?” I asked Agent Kelson.
“I don't think so, Ma'am,” Agent Kelson said with all seriousness.
“Perhaps I'd better use terms he can understand,” I mused to Kelson. Then, over my shoulder, I said to Lathem, “Shove it up your fat, racist ass, Deputy Secretary.”
I started walking again, and the Deputy started shouting more obscenities. I kept going; calmly striding out of the building with SA Longchamp chasing me; begging me to stay. I kept repeating 'no' to her all the way to the front steps. She finally gave up when we reached the street and went back to face the DS on her own.
Agent Kelson helped me into our car in silence and then started driving me toward the Supermarket.
“Well done, Ma'am,” Kelson said over his shoulder.
I stared at him in the rearview mirror. “You don't think that I should have taken the abuse for the good of the country?”
“The President will see to the good of the country,” Kelson said. “And I'll be informing him of exactly what the Deputy Secretary did to impede his own investigation.”
“Thank you, Agent Kelson.” I smiled at him in surprise.
“My pleasure, Ma'am,” he said. “My cousin is evolved. She's a good girl who wouldn't hurt a fly. I wouldn't stand for anyone speaking to her like that man just did to you. But I didn't have to stand up for you; you handled it like a lady and then told him where to shove it like a man. It was so much better than anything I could have done and it was a joy to watch. I only wish I could have recorded it to replay for the President.”
It turned out that Agent Kelson had quite a lot to say, and I appreciated every word.
Chapter Four
It was still mid-afternoon when Agent Kelson dropped me off in the East End's Chinatown, or Chinablock as it was called now. After the riots in 1968, most of the Asian population had moved away so it wasn't much of a town anymore. They left their mark, though; even on us supes. I thought about that as I passed beneath the red arch and into the Supermarket.
