The Amber Lee Boxed Set

by Katerina Martinez

  “Where’s… where’s Amber?” Frank asked, his voice shaky.

  The two men scanned the dwindling chaos unfolding around them. The werewolves had made short work of the hooded men, and the spider-people on the ceiling were only a loud, terrifying distraction and no real threat. Damien had wondered who they were and if they, maybe, could have been saved, but they may have just been forgeries made by Acheris’s hand. Like Lily. Amber, however, was nowhere to be seen—neither was Acheris or the werewolf she was fighting.

  He grabbed the knife he had used to kill Lily, dashed across what little open space there was, clambered over fallen pews, and raced around the altar. There was a hallway in the back, between the racks of candles, and he could hear the sounds of a struggle coming from beyond it.

  “There!” he said, and Frank followed him in.

  His heart was pounding, his chest burning with pain, and his legs already pushed past the point of exhaustion, but he kept going as fast as he could until he arrived at a large circular chamber. There, in the center of it, bathed in the glow of a shaft of light, Acheris was doing battle with a large wolf whose red fur looked silver beneath the light. He saw Aaron on the ground, in his human form—bleeding and shaking—and he wanted to run to him and help, but the fury of claws looked too perilous for him or Frank to navigate safely.

  So he watched, looking for an opening, a moment to strike. Amber clawed at Acheris’s face with her right hand. Acheris ducked, anticipating the blow, and slashed Amber across the side with her claws leaving a deep bloody gash in her fur. Amber roared, leapt away from Acheris, and took her human form again. Her hair was matted with blood, there were cuts along her face and arms, but her eyes were full of feral zeal—the fight was very much in her still.

  “Hey, bitch!” Damien said.

  Acheris turned to face him, and in a heartbeat Amber closed the distance between herself and the devil’s whore and took her down and pinned her to the floor. Damien tossed the knife across the room and Amber caught it, and in a single quick movement, screamed as she plunged it into Acheris’s chest. She twisted the blade, pulled it out, and then reached into the cavity with her hand to retrieve the black heart inside. Then she tossed into the center of the room, into the shaft of light, where it sizzled and burned until all that was left was ash.

  A mass of blackness rose from Acheris’s corpse, writhing and screeching, and for a moment Damien felt bad for it. The pain, the anger, the hate, it must have been unbearable, but that’s what one gets when they flirt with the devil. When the thing of darkness rose through the shaft of light and disappeared, it was as if the entire chamber seemed to brighten. As if a new day had dawned.

  Amber stood, staggered a few shaky feet, then fell to her knees and began to weep and laugh at the same time.

  It was done.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Three days later.

  His dreams had been intense the first 24 hours following his escape from Acheris’s blasphemous church. He could still sometimes hear the distant chorus of possessed mad men and women, speaking in tongues, in reverse, and in veneration of their dark lord and savior. These were memories Damien knew he would carry for the rest of his life, like scars on his psyche which were just as painful to look at as the one on his chest.

  It would heal, but nothing would ever be the same.

  He had lost his sister, had almost lost his mind and his friends, and now he was about to lose the one girl he truly loved. Part of him believed Acheris had been right when she told him all he had lost was for nothing, that his struggles and his pain had been pointless and futile. Then again, Acheris was a liar—a selfish liar—and Damien knew better than to trust the word of a snake. At least, he did now.

  His duffel bag, with a large number of clothes inside, was almost packed when a stray thought crossed his mind. Natalie. Somehow, in his inner struggle between following Amber to Las Vegas or going back to San Francisco and trying to make a normal life for himself, he had forgotten to think about Natalie. Or maybe he had thought about her too much? This wasn’t a conscious thing, though. Damien’s reason for wanting to go back to the home of the Golden Gate Bridge hadn’t been because of a girl—at least not on the outside— but here she was, in his mind, the spider at the center of the web of his thoughts.

  He plucked his phone from off the nightstand and looked around inside his contacts until he found Natalie’s name and number. All he had to do was tap on the string of numbers on the screen and he would be seconds away from talking to her. What would I say, he thought, what would she say when she saw me? It had been a long time since they had spoken, much less seen each other. Would he even recognize her? Would she recognize him? Did she have a boyfriend? A husband?

  There was a knock at the door and it swung open before he could answer it. Jackal was there wearing her aviators, a form-fitting white tank top that exposed her belly button, and a pair of dark blue jeans. Her leather jacket was in her hand, as were her riding gloves. She was getting ready to leave.

  “Come in,” Damien said.

  “Yeah, I figured that,” she said. “Going someplace?”

  Damien took in a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “San Francisco,” he said, putting his phone down and shoving more shirts into his duffel bag. His laptop would go in next. “Thinking of cutting myself a normal job, live a normal life for a while.”

  “Normal is overrated and you know it.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  “All I’ve ever known my whole life is how to be a wolf. The thrill, the trials, and the secrets are all normal.”

  “Didn’t you ever want to do something else?”

  “Why would I run from what I am?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders. “Why should you?”

  “I’m not running,” Damien said. He closed the bag and looked at her.

  “Seems an awful lot like running.”

  He shook his head, looked at the window, and then turned his head to Jackal again. She had put her jacket and gloves on the bed and approached.

  “Look,” she said, “I’ve been trying to get a read off you since we met, really trying my ass off; but I can’t.”

  “That’s gotta be frustrating.”

  “You have no idea. It’s also what turns me on about you the most, next to that big ol’ scar of yours. But the point is, I’ve watched you enough to paint a decent picture of who you are right here,” she said, tapping the left side of her chest. “You’re the guy who does what’s right by others before he does what’s right for himself. Sometimes that lands you in trouble, but at least your heart’s in the right place. And let me tell you; it’s not in San Francisco.”

  “You’re talking about Amber?”

  She shook her head. “Amber’s the one who got away. We’ve all got one, even me. His name’s Jack and he was the coolest guy I ever knew. But I drove him away, and now I’ll never get him back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be sorry. Jack had to leave for me to be able to learn what… what love feels like.” Damien cocked an eyebrow. Jackal approached, pointed a finger at his face, and said “You ever tell anyone I’ve used that word and I’ll rip you apart.”

  Damien’s hands went up. “I won’t say anything,” he said.

  “Good,” Jackal said, removing her finger from his face. “What I’m trying to tell you is that Amber helped you see what love is. Helped you understand it. And I know the pain is tough to deal with, but running away from her isn’t the answer. She needs you as much as you need her. I promise you that.”

  “And how do you know?”

  “Because I’m a pack animal, and I recognize other pack animals when I see them. You like companionship from people who understand you. Who’s gonna understand you better than she does?”

  “She has Aaron and Frank. Amber doesn’t need me.”

  Jackal pressed her lips into a thin line, removed her glasses, and then lunged at Damien. In one quick move she wrapped her hand a
round the back of his neck and kissed him. It took a moment for him to react, but when he felt the warmth of her mouth against his, her fingers in his hair, her breasts against his chest, his body screamed with delight and mutual passion.

  She separated herself from him and stared into his eyes, her blue against his hazel, locked in a battle of wills. Whose resolve would outlast the other? They weren’t fighting over resolve; they were fighting over a decision. In that instant of silence, as they stood with tingling lips and hanging breaths, Damien thought.

  “What is it you want from me?” he asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “You… want me to come with you?”

  “Figured that out all by yourself, huh?”

  “But… why? Why me?”

  Jackal’s full red lips parted just the tiniest bit, and she smiled. “I think I’m just a sucker for the tall, dark, and handsome type. You deserve a sexy werewolf’s attention as much as Amber does.”

  “I have your attention?” he asked, smiling.

  “You do. Somehow. But I’m a fickle butterfly, Damien Colt. You’re gonna have to work hard to keep it.”

  She wrapped both arms around his neck and smiled at him. Damien thought about what she had just said, then he reached for his phone, unlocked it to find Natalie’s contact card staring up at him, and with Jackal watching, he deleted the number. Whether this had been the right decision or not remained to be seen, and while nothing was certain—his living arrangements, his occupational or relationship status— Damien was ready to throw himself into the unknown.

  Because no matter how much he tried to convince himself that San Francisco was the safe bet, and that the safe bet was what he really wanted, Damien Colt had lived through too much to settle for normal.

  ***

  Downstairs, Francis Petersen—a name that was rarely ever spoken and only referred to in legal documents—was digging through Amber’s home library for any books he may want to take with him. He had left his phone on the coffee table playing songs by the Killers—a Las Vegas band—, he was rummaging through old tomes on religion, mythology, and demonology, and he was smoking a long cigarette while he did it.

  Amber would want these books at some point and so would he, but what he really didn’t want was the house’s new owners to look at the books and wonder what kind of weirdo had previously owned the house. Of course, the house didn’t have any new owners—not yet. It hadn’t even been set up for sale. But the ‘For Sale’ sign wasn’t far from the lawn now that Aaron and Amber were moving to Vegas.

  She wouldn’t want to keep it after all the things she’d gone through there, and her parents had no use for it.

  Frank pulled a large, leather-bound book from the bookshelf. An account of true Demonic Possessions, by Father Francis Flannigan. “Frank Flannigan,” he said aloud. “There’s a tongue-twister for you.”

  He heard a thump, and the sound stole his attention. Frank scanned the room, though the sound had come from below—from where his feet were. When his eyes pitched down, he saw the little thing staring back at him from the carpet. Frank set the book down on the table next to his phone, knelt, and took the charm in his hand. Warm to the touch, heavier than it ought to have been, and possessed of its own static current, Frank recognized it as the very same pentacle he had given Damien.

  The same pentacle Amber had smashed to pieces.

  He set the cigarette down in his ashtray, thumbed the pendant with his fingers, and closed his eyes. “Are you in there?” he asked.

  The demon had kept its end of the bargain—it had allowed Amber a moment to contain its power and use it to destroy Acheris, and then it had relinquished its hold on her when the fight was done. Now the pentacle, the thing that had served as the demon’s reliquary for a very long time, was whole again and in his fingers. Frank had no doubt the demon had used a measure of Amber’s power to repair itself and come here, and that only meant—

  “YES,” said a voice in the back of Frank’s mind. It was like nails on a chalkboard, like a metal fork scratching against a ceramic plate. Frank winced, but then regained himself. “NOW HONOR OUR AGREEMENT.”

  Frank stood, swallowed, and traced the pentacle’s lines with his thumb and forefinger. He looked at the window, at the ground outside—the soil—and considered burying it, going back on his deal and forsaking a part of himself he knew he was better off without. Having a creature of vice around one’s neck made one predisposed toward, well, vices; but the demon was also a great source of power and insight. One Frank didn’t know he would be able to go without.

  Once a hunter of demons, always a hunter of demons.

  He took a deep breath and slipped the necklace around his neck, letting the charm rest on his chest. Something heavy and awful reached from the pentacle into Frank and wrapped itself around his soul. He likened the feeling to someone grabbing his arm—a single arm—with the intent being to follow them wherever they went and, on occasion, get them to go where it wanted them to go.

  He knew he had lost ground to the demon inside the charm, but no one had come out of this ordeal unscathed. Frank was no exception. He would live out the rest of his days with this thing attached to him like a Siamese twin, and maybe one day he would come to another crossroads where he would need to decide whether to rid himself of it once and for all, forsaking the edge given to him by the demon’s power, or allow it to take him fully and go where the wind went.

  But that was a bridge he would cross another day.

  Frank picked the book up from off the table, dusted the cover off, and smiled. He remembered sitting in the cabin one morning, staring at a ram’s head skull on the table and catching a stray psychic thought, one of Damien’s. What happens to Frank he had said, and Frank had considered it in the context of Damien’s own thoughts; Amber and Aaron would marry one day, maybe, Damien would move somewhere to live a normal life—then immediately regret making that choice—and Frank—

  “What happens to Frank when this is all over?” he asked, taking a final toke of his cigarette. “Frank does Las Vegas, baby.”

  ***

  The sounds of hammering floated out of Amber’s garage. Aaron had replaced the windshield on the van—,which had been amorously named the mystery machine—,with his uncle’s help, but he still had an innumerable number of dents to hammer out of the vehicle’s body and he figured it would be best to get them out before making the trip down to Vegas. Aaron had his own car and Jackal had her bike, but Frank would need to drive the van and Aaron didn’t want to hear any complaints about the state of the vehicle.

  When he heard a bike come grumbling into the drive, poked his head out from under the front seat and sat up.

  Marcus, a tall and imposing man with a cascade of lush blonde hair falling over his shoulders and back and tattoo covered arms, stepped off the Harley and removed his helmet. He approached, and not wanting to show any sign of hesitation, Aaron stood, dropped the hammer on the seat, and walked up to greet the man he called his father.

  “Looks like she’s in good shape again,” Marcus said, referring to the state of the van. Last time he had seen it, the thing had a huge crack in the windshield and looked like the product of a meteor shower’s attack on the surface of the moon.

  Aaron nodded. “Yeah, I think so too,” he said.

  “How are your wounds?”

  “Better. They stung for about a day or two but I’m over the worst of it.”

  “Silver’s a bitch.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  Marcus took a beat, a breath. “Listen, son,” he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of the way you’ve handled things up here, and that you’re doing the right thing by coming with us to Nevada.”

  Aaron nodded. “It’s what you wanted.”

  “What I wanted for you. You need to be around your own kind, learning from us, running with us. It’s what’s right.”

  “Maybe. But you had no right to hang your help over my head t
he way you did.”

  “I’m sorry, son. I just needed you to agree. I was always going to help.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Aaron turned and grabbed the hammer again.

  “The pack’s looking forward to having you,” Marcus said, “They’re ready to accept you as their new beta.”

  Beta? Aaron’s chest began to burn, and angry heat rose into his throat. He contained it and turned to face his father. “You already have a beta,” he said.

  “Jackal’s gonna step down. You’re the right choice. You’re a Cooper, and I know I’m growing long in the tooth. When I’m done I need you at the head of this pack, leading them like I have.”

  “What happens to Jackal?”

  “She can be your Beta once you take over.”

  “You know she won’t take it lying down.”

  “Probably not, but that’s where I expect my new Beta to put her in line.”

  Aaron smiled and swapped the hammer from hand to hand. “You know,” he said, “If she heard you talking like this about her she’d be kicking your ass.”

  Marcus said nothing, but his face suggested he’d misjudged what Aaron had just said as some kind of joke.

  “I’m gonna go down with you to Vegas,” Aaron said, “And I’m going to join your pack, Amber too. She’s a wolf now and she needs to learn from the rest of us, but she has no delusions about what her place is—she knows she has to earn it. But you had better start taking Jackal seriously, because when push comes to shove those are the wolves you want at your side protecting you. If she gets wind you tried to sell her short, she will challenge you, and she will beat you, and then you’ll have no choice but to expose your throat to her. You ready for that?”

  “Are you threatening me? That’s not a good way to start a relationship.”

  “I think it’s the best way,” Aaron said, “Puts us on level terms, lets us both know what kind of shit is in the air.”

  Aaron approached again, and Marcus backed up a step.

  “I’m going to Vegas to start a life with my wife, not to lead a pack of wolves. And when the time comes that Jackal takes her rightful place as Alpha, I’ll be the Beta backing up her play.”