Bloodlines

by Powell, Jaime W.

  When I close my bedroom door, I stick my ear against it, wondering what my parents might be saying to one another. I can’t believe I told them. It wasn’t my secret to tell, and I told Silas he could trust me to keep it to myself. What did I do, though? I told his enemy — the one person in Jefferson who wants him dead.

  Thirteen

  God’s Huntsmen

  Despite feeling utterly disgusted with myself, I still agree to go with my father to meet “our kind,” as he calls them. I can’t imagine what I’m getting myself into, and if I’m being frank, I’m scared. I’m not sure what they expect of me or what my father may have told them. For all I know, they are already on to Silas and his brothers, and I’m being brought in because of it.

  “Where is this place, Dad?” I bite the corner of my thumbnail as I stare from my window. Everywhere in Jefferson takes five minutes to get to, so I know it can’t be far.

  “It’s where no one will find it.”

  “In Jefferson? How is that even possible?”

  He smirks. “You’ll see.” Two short minutes later we are circling the courthouse searching for a parking spot. I stare at my surroundings and peer at my dad from the corner of my eyes. This is it? The courthouse?

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter to myself.

  My father finally places his truck in Park and I unstrap my seatbelt, opening the door. I’ve been in this area a hundred times. There’s no way a secret society could be here. Someone would have noticed.

  “Dad, there’s nothing here. What’s going on?”

  “Emma,” he says holding out his hand for me, “please.” I take a deep breath and accept his hand as we walk up to the front door. He opens it for me, and when I walk in I see what you’d expect from a small-town courthouse: a couple of security guards, ladies in skirts and heels, and gentlemen in slacks and a tie. Nothing out of place.

  “Dad?”

  “C’mon, Emma.” He tugs me along to the back of the building where there’s a steel door with a padlock. My brows push together as my father whips out a bronze key which has the same symbol on it as his ring has. I still grimace at the sight of the emblem. When the door unlocks, my father peers around behind us and quickly shoves me through the door, locking the inside lock behind us.

  He flicks on a switch, and all of the walls are covered in a shiny metal, like titanium. The small foyer area leads to metal, crate-like steps that delve steeply into a much larger room. My hand holds onto an old railing to keep from falling down the sharp steps.

  When my feet find the bottom, I feel a heaviness. The air is thicker down here. Or perhaps there’s just less of it.

  “Are we underground?”

  “Yes. Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic,” he jokes. But it’s not funny to me.

  “A bit.”

  “Don’t think about it,” he instructs. Can always count on him to be understanding. As we turn a corner, my eyes are overwhelmed. The walls are still made of a silvery metal, but black columns appear to hold up a ceiling that seems only Michelangelo himself could have painted.

  It depicts a war of colonial men defeating a band of demons with their hatchets in hand. Only the axe portions of the hatchets appear to have been dipped in gold — gold like the ring my father wears. There are fires in the background and women clutching their children in fright.

  That’s not what grabs my attention the most though. The demons in the painting seem like something from someone’s worst nightmare. You can make out the bodies by bones and muscle, but they appear green and seem to have no skin on them at all. They’re exposed.

  It’s then I realize this is exactly what they want their members to see: their opinion of what demons are behind the human facade. My eyes look away in disgust, dropping my view to my feet as we continue on, until we finally reach a group of people. I count only seven, not including myself and my father.

  “This is it? The big society I’m supposed to be a part of?” I ask unapologetically of my father.

  Embarrassment floods his face as it turns red and he turns me to face him. “Emma, this is Jefferson. If we were in New York City or Los Angeles, there would be hundreds. It’s bloodlines only. Do you understand?”

  Admitting defeat, I drop my head. I do understand now, and as I think on, Jefferson having nine potential demon hunters is a lot. We don’t even have that many gas station attendants.

  “I’m sorry, Abraham, she isn’t of age yet and—” my father begins but is silenced by Abraham’s hand.

  “It’ll come to her soon enough, Christopher.” It becomes obvious to me that Abraham is some sort of leader of the group. A person of authority, if nothing else. “Emma, I’m Abraham,” he says, offering his hand. I shake it lightly, my heart not in it.

  “This must all be rather surreal to you. Overwhelming, perhaps?” Abraham asks.

  I nod. “That’s putting it mildly.” I hear the others chuckle behind him.

  “Let me introduce you to everyone,” he says, making his way to the small crowd as I follow. “This is my son, Jason. He joined us last year.”

  “Hello, Emma,” Jason says with a nod. I offer a half-hearted nod in return. “I know what it’s like being the new kid. If I can help at any point, just let me know.”

  “Sure,” I mutter.

  “Christopher? When did you and your wife, Laura, explain everything to Emma?” another man asks. My head cocks. “Oh I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to speak of you as if you weren’t here. I’m Bill. I keep the records here and was simply asking so I could record it.

  “So you’re the secretary,” I mutter with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Um, just yesterday, Bill. I’m sorry, Emma doesn’t mean to be impolite. This is all new to her. You understand, of course,” my father explains. I roll my eyes and Bill takes a step back, hanging his head.

  “Of course,” Bill mumbles.

  Abraham continues with his introductions. “This is Molly.” Molly is gray haired but it appears premature. Her face is smooth and fresh like a woman in maybe her forties.

  “And your role?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “Hunter,” she replies. “The rest of us are all Hunters.” I grimace, and her brows pull together at my action but she doesn’t question it. “This is my daughter, Rain.”

  “Hello, Emma. Nice to finally meet you,” Rain says politely. Rain appears in her twenties but wears black everything it seems: shirt, nail polish, eyeliner. A goth child, I suspect, although with a name like Rain I would have expected a skirt-wearing, flowers in her hair, type of person — a hippie child.

  “And these two are David and Dennis,” Abraham finishes.

  “Twins,” I say, making the obvious assessment.

  “Indeed,” David answers. They both have sandy-colored hair, but you can tell David apart from his brother by a small, pink birthmark on his left cheek. They are strapping lads to say the least: muscular and I’d guess in their mid-thirties. They have strong jaws with dimples in the center. When I see the strong men, I imagine demons running for cover.

  Abraham takes my father off to the side, and the others begin talking amongst themselves. All I can manage to do is shake my head at all of this. This makes no sense. Suddenly, Rain is pulling me off to the side by my wrists.

  “You have an interesting aura about you,” she says. I stare at her. Speaking of making no sense… “Oh, sorry, I should explain. I can read auras, and yours is an interesting one. It’s lavender and silver. Lavender usually means you’re a visionary of some sort, and silver could mean some sort of cosmic awakening inside you.”

  “Not bad,” I mutter. “Still, I’d say this in and of itself is an awakening.”

  She shrugs a single shoulder. “Believe it or not, there are few people with such an aura. People who look but do not see.”

  “I think it would be pretty hard to miss all this.”

  She chuckles. “Not this, Emma. You see other things, don’t you? Even for a Huntsman I can see something
in your aura that is strictly yours and no one else's. That’s something to be admired and envied.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  She lets go of my wrists. “I was where you are now, I promise. Before this I didn’t even believe in demons. But when you’re of age you’ll understand even more about this life than you do now. It’s a gift.”

  I had been staring at my father, but now my gaze falls upon her. “It’s a curse.” Her eyes widen and I walk away, around the corner and up the stairs. Footsteps follow behind me, but I don’t glance back to see who it is. It’s probably either my father or Rain who wants to convince me killing is some sort of gift.

  “Emma?” the soft voice says. I’m at the top step, but I turn to meet Molly’s eyes. I feel instantly guilty.

  “Molly, I’m sorry, but—”

  She waves a hand to silence me. “No, dear. You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you don’t believe us when we say we’ve been in your shoes, but you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t think you’ve been exactly in my shoes,” I mutter.

  She nods. “You’re right. Everyone has their own story, but we all have this in common. We aren’t killers, Emma. We’re saviors.”

  “Saviors who call yourselves ‘Huntsmen’?”

  Her eyes fall slightly but she peers back up at me, climbing the steps to meet me at the top. “If you never believe anything else in your life, believe this: we are the good guys. Everything on earth kills. People kill for food, for finances, for revenge, and more. Animals kill to eat. We kill so everyone can survive. The Earth as a whole.”

  * * *

  “So what do you do all day?” I ask my father as we sit down at the local sandwich shop to eat. “If you’re not in construction, where do you go?”

  He shrugs, though his face gives him away. It’s obvious he hates being so honest with someone who converses with demons daily. “Some days I just chase leads.”

  “Where do these ’leads‘ take you?” I pry.

  “It can be anywhere in East Texas or West Louisiana. We work with other Huntsmen in the area.” His answer only furthers my sick interest.

  “Have you ever killed someone?” I pick at my sandwich awaiting his answer.

  “No, Emma. I’ve never killed someone. I destroy demons.” I cringe at his callousness.

  “Something tells me they don’t look like the ones painted on the ceiling in the courthouse. So how do you know they are what you think they are?”

  He places his sandwich down, brushes his hands off, and leans back in his seat. I lean back as well, meeting his gaze. “When you’re of age you’ll just…know.”

  I feel a plunging in my stomach. He keeps telling me that, and it’s obvious to me there is some amount of truth to it. How do I know? Because now, every time I talk about demons, I feel a burning sensation in my chest, as if I’m angered by the subject. It makes me wonder if this is what my father feels every time I bring them up. Is this it? Is this what it will feel like when I’m around Silas again?

  Fourteen

  Under Attack

  It’s nightfall by the time Dad and I arrive home. As we pull into the drive, I see all the lights are off in the house. Mom must have already gone to bed — probably to avoid seeing me after everything she knows I’ve endured today. She isn’t a bad mom. I know that now.

  This is just all extremely hard for her. Especially now that her daughter is wrapped up in it. A part of me can’t help feeling sorry for her. Had she known before her wedding what her groom was, I wonder if she would have followed through with marrying him. I have to assume yes because divorce has always been an option.

  As we walk into the house it seems too dark…too quiet. Alarmingly so. I glance up at my father and can see he feels the same way. There’s something inside me telling me things aren’t as they should be.

  “Mom,” I whisper to myself. I fly up the stairs to her bedroom with my dad running just as fast behind me. He pulls me aside and tries to open the door, but it’s locked.

  “Move, Emma!” he hollers out before he kicks in the door to their bedroom. “Laura?” he calls out.

  I rush inside the room behind him, and floating above my mother’s body is a man with a blue glow surrounding him. A man who looks stunningly like Silas, yet an older version. I’m awestruck, but not enough not to take action. My mother is motionless as if asleep, but it appears more as a coma since our forceful entry didn’t wake her.

  The man, on the other hand, did in fact hear our entry and grins wickedly at me. I grab my father’s hatchet which rests beside the door (now understanding why) and run toward the man, but he holds out a hand toward me, and I’m suddenly flying across the room and smashing into the wall beside the kicked-in door. My head hits hard and my vision blurs.

  I feel sick to my stomach as I watch, in slow motion, my father trying desperately to fight the man. He grabs the hatchet from the floor and swings and misses, and the man, which I know to be a demon, laughs at him. My mother still does not wake. It’s as if the demon has cast some sort of spell on her. My eyes close for a moment, but I’m startled back awake as my father grabs me, picking me up, and laying me across the bed. It’s now I hear my mother has awakened as well.

  “Emma?” she cries. “Christopher, what’s wrong with her? Emma!”

  “She was attacked, as were you. Help me keep her awake.” I turn my head to hang off the bed and begin vomiting.

  “What do you mean, we were attacked? I’ve been asleep,” she argues.

  “My guess is an Incubus. You were in a comatose state, which I’m sure he put you in. Emma tried to fight him off but was hurt,” he explains.

  I turn my head and vomit again, my head pounding and body aching.

  “We have to call Silas,” my mother urges.

  “What?” my father asks infuriated.

  “Christopher, she could be seriously hurt. How would we explain this to a hospital? Call him!” It’s then I lose my fight to stay awake, my eyes closing against my will, and everything goes black.

  I’m awakened sometime later to the sensation of a brain freeze, only this brain freeze feels like it may kill me. I scream in pain but it only makes it worse, so I force myself to close my mouth and endure the pain until it passes. My eyes flicker open and closed at the harsh light, which makes my eyes water.

  It’s then I see Zeke, his hands on either side of my head, and Silas and Kutz leaning over me, as well as my parents. I’ve been through this before. I must have been hurt and they are helping me — although I must admit their help always seems to hurt worse than the injury itself.

  When the pain passes, my body goes limp, although my head feels icy. Even my hair is cool to the touch as I grab my head and sit up. “He looked just like you,” I tell Silas. All of the brothers have jet-black hair and green eyes, but he had Silas’s high cheekbones and strong jaw. They could have been twins.

  “That’s not good news,” Zeke answers.

  “Let’s gather in the living room if we can, Mr. Lester. It’s time we talk,” Silas says. Walking down the stairs is a chore, despite Kutz and my dad steadying me as they hold onto each of my arms. My head pounds where my wound had been. They sit me in my father’s usual recliner.

  “Was it a concussion?” I ask.

  “A fractured skull. That’s what caused the vomiting,” Silas answers.

  “Sorry I asked,” I mumble.

  “How much do they know, Emma?” Silas asks as my parents sit on the couch next to me. I knew he meant my parents.

  “More than you’d like,” Dad says.

  “They know everything, Silas. I’m sorry,” I answer, head in my hands trying to control the throbbing.

  “You’re wrong, Mr. Lester. It’s good you know us for what we are now. You’re going to need us,” Silas says.

  “I think we’re beyond formalities,” my father admits. “You can call me Christopher. This is my wife, Laura. But I am interested in why you’d think we would need you for any
thing.”

  Silas glances around at his brothers. Kutz lowers his head, but Zeke gives him a nod. “Chris, I’m sure you know it was an Incubus. What you probably don’t know is it was more than likely my father. My father doesn’t attack randomly.

  “He has his sights set on your family for a reason. Probably because of my feelings for Emma. Like you, sir, he doesn’t believe demons and humans should mix — at least not unless the Incubus means the human harm or to breed. We believe your wife was only the beginning. Emma may be next.”

  “We keep our windows and doors locked,” my dad scoffs.

  Silas shakes his head. “We see how well that works for you. With all due respect, Christopher, locking the windows and doors does little. They can always find a way in. Always.”

  “The thing is, Mr. Lester,” Zeke begins, “this isn’t just between you and an Incubus. Silas’s father, like our fathers, doesn’t believe in us living a human life. They resent that we use our powers to help humans rather than harm them.”

  “It’s time to get your daughter out of here, sir. Maybe yourself and your wife as well,” Kutz adds. “If what Silas says is true, and his father knows where Emma is, there’s nothing stopping him from attacking her or your wife or even yourself again.”

  My father seems to take time to examine every bit of information given to him — sitting quietly and staring at the floor as it’s all explained to him. Finally, he gazes at Silas. “What is your father’s name?”

  Silas swallows loudly. “Damius.”

  “And his allies?” my dad pries.

  “Could be anyone. Could be everyone. We don’t know.”

  My dad nods. “You know you’re the ones who put my daughter in danger.”

  “Dad…”

  “No, Emma, he’s right. We did, and I’m sorry, sir. We will do anything to make it right again,” Silas admits.