by Tracy Wolff
His casual mention of my mom now—when I’m missing her so much—destroys me, has me squeezing my hands into fists and digging my nails into my palms in an effort to keep it together.
It helps that Uncle Finn doesn’t stay there, dwelling on my mom’s incredible ability to take everything in stride—something I haven’t inherited, no matter what my uncle thinks. Instead, he pulls something up on the computer and prints it out.
“You really sure you’re okay? You don’t want Marise to check you out?” he asks for what feels like the millionth time.
No freaking way. I know Macy said she bit me so that she could mend my artery, but that doesn’t mean I’m anxious to let her near my throat again—or any other part of my anatomy, for that matter. “I swear I’m fine. It’s Jaxon you should be concerned about. He shielded me from the glass.”
“I’ve already requested that Marise check him out,” he tells me. “And I’ll call him in later to thank him for saving my favorite niece from harm.”
“Only niece,” I remind him, falling into the game we’ve played my entire life. It’s a tiny bit of normalcy in this day that is anything but normal, and I grab on to it with both hands.
“Only and favorite,” he tells me. “One doesn’t discount the other.”
“Okay, favorite uncle. I guess it doesn’t.”
“Exactly!” His slightly strained smile turns into a delighted grin. But it doesn’t last long as silence once again descends between us.
This time I can’t stop myself from fidgeting—not because I’m nervous but because I want to get out of here and get to Jaxon. He looked like he was on edge earlier, and I just want to make sure nothing bad happens—to him or anyone else.
But Uncle Finn obviously takes my fidgeting for something else entirely, because he rubs a hand over his hair with a heavy sigh. Then says, “So now that the cat is out of the bag…”
“Don’t you mean the werewolf?” I ask with a raised brow. “Or do you have cat shifters up here, too?”
He laughs. “Nope, just the wolves and dragons for now.”
“Just.” My tone is ripe with irony.
“You must have a lot of questions.”
A lot? Nah. Just two or three million. Starting with the question I asked earlier that he chose not to answer. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have told me when you asked me to move to Alaska, when you came for the funerals.”
“I figured you were pretty overwhelmed then, and the last thing you needed was for me to try to convince you that vampires and witches are real.”
It’s a fair point. But still… “And after I got here?”
He blows out a long breath. “I figured I would ease you in slowly. That first night, I had planned to let you know that things were different here than you might expect, but you had the most miserable altitude sickness. Then everything else happened, and it just seemed easier to leave you in the dark for a while. Especially when Dr. Wainwright told me that after talking to Dr. Blake, she thought we should let you get used to Alaska, and the huge change in your life, before you had to face the fact that everything you’d ever heard about the supernatural world was actually real.”
“Everything?” It’s my turn to lift my brows.
“Maybe not everything. But a lot of it, certainly.”
What he says makes sense, I guess, but I’m still skeptical—especially since I haven’t even had a chance to meet Dr. Wainwright yet. But how could anyone actually think they could hide the fact that this school is filled with things that go bump in the night?
I mean, when I think of Flint jumping out of a tree to save me or Macy doing a glamour right in front of me or the shifters walking around in nothing but a pair of jeans or Jaxon…doing whatever Jaxon does, it seems impossible to imagine I wouldn’t catch on. Sure, I was thinking aliens instead of vampires, but I still knew something was very, very wrong.
My skepticism must show on my face, because my uncle kind of grimaces. “Yeah. In hindsight, it was a bad plan all around. It’s not exactly easy to hide the fact that vampires and dragons are real when we’re in the middle of a giant turf war.”
“Turf war?” I ask, because Macy has already alluded to the same thing. I thought she was talking about high school clique BS, but now that I know we’re talking about different supernatural species…her warning makes a lot more sense.
And seems a lot scarier.
He shakes his head. “That’s for another day. I’m pretty sure you’ve had as much as you can handle today—I know I have. Which leads me to the reason I’ve really called you in here.”
It’s pretty much the most awkward change of subject ever, and I almost call him on it because I know there is more to the story than he’s telling me. A lot more. I’m also sure there are a lot more stories that I don’t have a clue about, let alone the information that fleshes them out. But I don’t think arguing with him is the way to get him to talk.
So instead of demanding answers to all my many, many questions, I bite my tongue and wait to hear what Uncle Finn has to say.
“I was thinking, a lot of really horrible stuff has happened to you since you got here.”
“Not much has actually happened to me,” I remind him. “Jaxon has saved me a bunch of times.”
“I know he has, but we can’t count on Jaxon to always be around. Stuff happens here that doesn’t happen in other schools—as you’ve seen the last few days. What happened with the earthquake was a freak accident, and I’m sure the chandelier was as well. But it’s made me think. What will happen to you if someone loses control of their powers when Jaxon or Flint or Macy isn’t around to whisk you out of the way? What happens if you end up getting seriously hurt?” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
“Do you think that’s what happened? Someone lost control of their powers?”
“We’re not sure, but that’s the assumption we’re going with right now. Some witch was trying to see what she could do and bam… While we’ve never actually lost a chandelier before, we have had crystals fly across the room. Among other things.”
That might actually be the best news I’ve heard all day, because it means Jaxon was probably freaking out for nothing. No one is trying to kill me—someone just had an oops with their powers and I happened to be in the way. Which makes so much more sense than thinking that someone might actually be out to get me.
“Anyway.” My uncle is back to steepling his fingers. “That’s why I want to send you back to San Diego.”
44
Sweet
Home Alaska
“Send me back?” Horror slides through me like a plane on an icy runway—fast, desperate, all-consuming. “What do you mean? There’s nothing for me there.”
“I know.” He shakes his head sadly. “But I’m beginning to think there’s nothing for you here, either. And at least there, you’ll be safe.”
“You mean like my parents were safe?” The words are torn out of me, ragged and painful and terrified. Going back to San Diego means leaving Jaxon, and I don’t want to do that. I can’t do that, not now, when it’s obvious that something is happening between us. Not now, when he’s the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last before I fall asleep.
“That was a fluke, Grace. A terrible accident—”
“Accidents can happen anywhere. And if something is going to happen to me, I’d rather it happen here when I’m with Macy and you and—” I break off, unwilling to put voice to something I’m just beginning to understand myself. That somehow, in just about a week, Jaxon Vega has come to mean something to me.
But apparently, my uncle is more perceptive than I thought, because he finishes the sentence for me. “Jaxon?” he asks gently.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Whatever is between the two of us is between the two of us. No way can I try to explain it to Uncle
Finn.
Then again, my lack of answer is pretty much an answer in and of itself. “I know Jaxon can be…” He pauses, blows out another long breath. “Seductive. I know how the girls feel about him, and I get it. He’s—”
“Uncle Finn! No!” I all but put my hands over my ears to keep from hearing my uncle refer to the boy I’m falling for as “seductive.”
“No?” he asks, looking confused. “You’re not attracted to—?”
“I mean, no! Just no! I don’t know what, if anything, is going on with Jaxon and me, but we”—I gesture back and forth between us—“are not talking about it.”
“We aren’t?”
“No. We aren’t.” I shake my head emphatically. “Not now, not ever.”
“I swear, talking to you about boys is as bad as trying to talk to Macy about them,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Every time I ask her about Cam, she acts like I asked her to swallow eye of newt or something. But fine. No talking about boys. Except I do need to warn you that Jaxon is—”
“Dangerous. Yeah, Macy’s already ground that into my head. And maybe he is, but he’s never been anything but gentle with me, so—”
“I wasn’t going to say dangerous.” For the first time, there’s a touch of annoyance in his voice. “And you’d know that if you stopped interrupting me.”
“Oh, right.” I can feel myself start to blush. “Sorry.”
He just shakes his head. “What I was going to say is that Jaxon is not like any other boy you’ve ever met.”
“Well, obviously.” I do the same fang-miming thing I did with Macy, and Uncle Finn bursts out laughing, too.
“I meant for a lot more reasons than just his being a vampire, but yes, there is the vampire thing as well.”
Oh. His words set off butterflies in my stomach, though I’m not sure why. “What else is there?” I ask, because I can’t not ask. “I know about his brother—”
“He told you about Hudson?” Now my uncle sounds shocked.
“Just that he died.”
“Oh, yes.” The way his face relaxes tells me there’s a lot more to the story than what I know. Well, that and the fact that everyone has the same reaction when I mention that I know about Hudson. “His death left Jaxon with a lot of responsibility to shoulder—Hudson’s and his own.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, Grace, you can’t.” He looks more somber than I have ever seen him. “Because being a vampire isn’t like being a regular person.”
“Okay. Sure. But he was regular once, right?” I think back on every vampire movie I’ve ever seen, every novel I’ve ever read. “I mean—”
“No. That’s just it. Jaxon was born a vampire.”
Now I’m the shocked one. “What do you mean? I thought all vampires…”
“Not all, no. Vampires can be made—in fact, most of them are. But they can also be born. Jaxon was born, as were the other members of the Order. And that means…a lot in our world.”
I can’t even begin to imagine what it means, because I’m still stuck on his vampires can be born revelation. “But how? I mean, I thought you had to be bitten to become a vampire?”
“Usually, yes. But that’s assuming they want to turn you. If they don’t, you just get a bite. Like…”
“Like what Marise did to me, you mean.”
“Yes.” He nods.
“That still doesn’t explain how vampires can be born,” I tell him. Part of me feels like I’m going to drown with all this new information, and part of me is kind of like…huh, okay. No big deal.
I guess after making the leap to accept that all these creatures exist, how they came to exist isn’t nearly as shocking.
“Like other things, vampirism is a genetic mutation. Rare, exceptionally rare, but a genetic mutation nonetheless. The first documented cases happened a few thousand years ago, but since then, many more have happened.”
“Wait a minute. You have documented cases of vampires from thousands of years ago? How is that possible? I mean, how can you prove it?”
“Because they’re still alive, Grace.”
“Oh. Right.” Something else I didn’t see coming, though I probably should have. “Because vampires don’t die.”
“They do die, just much more slowly than the rest of us, because their cells develop differently than ours.”
Of course they do. Otherwise there wouldn’t be so much bloodsucking and who knows what else. “And Jaxon is one of these vampires? One of the old ones?” The thought turns the butterflies into vultures. Which is strange. I mean, I’m totally willing to accept the vampire thing, so why does the old thing totally freak me out?
“Jaxon was born into the most ancient vampire family. But no, he’s not four thousand years old, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Oh, thank God. “So these families are the only ones who can give birth to vampires? I mean, vampires can’t just be born from anyone, right?”
“It’s a genetic mutation, so yes, vampires can be born to anyone. Usually, they aren’t. Usually, born vampires come from one of the six ancient families, but other born vampires do happen. They’re usually the ones you read about in stories, because they don’t have any knowledge of who or what they are, so they…”
“Run rampant killing everyone in sight?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” he tells me with an exasperated look. “But yes. They are the ones who tend to make other vampires, because they don’t know any better. Or because they’re lonely and want to create a family. Or for several other reasons, as well. The older families aren’t like that, though.”
“What does that mean? They don’t kill people?” I have to admit that’s a huge relief.
At least until my uncle laughs and says, “Let’s not get carried away.”
“Oh, well, then. Jaxon has…”
“I’m not in the habit of talking about students with other students, Grace. And this conversation has gone far afield from where I intended it to go.”
True, but I’ve learned a lot, so I’m more than okay with where the conversation has gone. Though the laugh that accompanied his let’s not get carried away line was more than a little chilling. “I don’t want to go back to San Diego, Uncle Finn.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. The first time I’ve really even thought it and believed it. But as the words come out of my mouth, I know they’re true. No matter how much I miss the beach and the warmth and the life I used to have with my parents, going back there isn’t what I want. My parents are gone forever, and nothing else that San Diego has holds as much appeal as Jaxon.
Nothing.
“Grace, I’m glad you like it at Katmere Academy. I am. But I don’t know if it’s safe. I thought I could protect you here, but obviously being a regular person in a school meant for paranormals is dangerous.”
Considering my week, that seems like an understatement. But still… “Isn’t it my decision to make?”
“It is. But you can’t make it over a boy.”
“I’m not making it because of Jaxon. Or at least, not just because of Jaxon.” This, too, is true. “I’m making it because of Macy. And you. And even Flint. I’m making it because I miss San Diego and my life there, but that life is over. My parents are dead, and if I stay there, if I go back to the same school and the same life I had—minus them—it’s going to be a slap in the face. A reminder, every day, of what I lost.
“And I don’t think I can do that, Uncle Finn. I don’t think I can heal there, driving by my old house on the way to school every day. Going to all the places my parents and I used to go—” My voice breaks, and I look away, embarrassed by the tears in my eyes. Embarrassed by how weak I feel every time I think about my mom and dad.
“Okay.” This time, when he reaches across the desk, he takes both my hands in his. �
�Okay, Grace. If that’s how you feel, you know you can stay. You’re always welcome wherever Macy and I are. But we have to do something about all these near misses, because I am not okay with something happening to you on my watch. The day you were born, I promised your father I’d take care of you if anything ever happened to him, and I am not about to let him down.”
“That sounds perfect, because, honestly, I’m not a big fan of all the near misses, either.”
He laughs. “I bet. So what—?”
He’s interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom on his desk. “Headmaster Foster, your nine o’clock call is on line three.”
“Oh, right. Thanks, Gladys.” He looks at me. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to take this. Why don’t you head back to your room and relax for the rest of the day? I’ll think about how we’re going to keep you safe and come by around lunchtime to talk to you and Macy about it. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” I scoop my backpack off the ground and head for the door. Once I’ve got it open, though, I turn back to my uncle. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t come up with any ideas.”
“No, I mean, thank you for coming to San Diego to get me. Thank you for taking me in. Thank you for—”
“Being your family?” He shakes his head. “You never have to thank me for that, Grace. I love you. Macy loves you. And you’ll have a place with us for as long as you want it. Okay?”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “Okay.” Then I book it out the door before I turn into a blubbering mess for the second time in as many days.
But I’ve barely closed the door and made it three steps down the hall before the floor beneath my feet starts to shake. Again.
45
I Always Knew
There Was Fire Between Us;
