Demon Kissed (12 page)

That was the first time I had any inkling of the power Eric wielded. The powers intrigued me, but I wanted the basics first. “How old are you, Eric? When were you born?”

“I was born near Greece,” his amber eyes watched me intently.
“Ancient Greece.
I was chosen to be a Martis a long time ago.” He paused, looking at me. “It was at the end of 39AD.” He sat back into the booth waiting for my reaction. My fingers dropped the fry I was holding. It bounced off the plate, and rolled under the table.

Shaking my head, I said, “I knew it. I knew you weren’t dumb.”

He leaned forward laughing and said, “What!”

“In class,” I said leaning back into the booth, twirling a fry. “You act like you have no idea what’s going on, but whenever I was graced with some of your meager verbiage, you sounded too intelligent to be getting 70’s.” I raised my eyebrow and leaned forward pointing a fry at his chest. “You’re a faker.
A really
old
faker.”

In honor of my ridiculous statement, I received another wholehearted laugh. His caramel eyes sparkled and his face lit up. “Yeah, now you know. I’m really an underachiever—a really old underachiever.” He laughed as he bit a fry. “You’re gonna be fun. I can tell.”

“So, you’ve been seventeen for almost 2,000 years? That’s got to be—weird.”

Nodding he said, “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s not.”
 

“How’d it happen?” I asked.

His eyes shifted toward the table, as his mood shifted to serious. “I was betrothed. The wedding was supposed to be a few days after I was marked.” His face darkened, “I barely survived.” He continued, “But I did survive, and after I found the rest of the Martis, I did better. They helped me, and gave me this,” he said lifting
a silver
X on a chain out from under his shirt. It was an old cross.

My eyes lifted to his right brow. It looked perfect, no stardust. No pixie trail.
“A cross?”
I felt my eyebrow arch.

Nodding, he replied, “
It’s
celestial silver. It hides us, so no one can see our mark. It’s, also, our most powerful weapon. Only celestial silver can kill a Valefar. You need it so you can defend yourself.” He looked at my hair, gesturing, “How’d you get yours? I was trying to get you a piece, but I couldn’t get it that fast. It’s very rare, and held under lock and key.”

My heart sank, as his words washed over me. “My sister sent it to me. I got it the same day you found me in the park.”

“Your sister?” his eyebrows bunched together.

“Yeah, she sent it back to my Mom, when she was in Italy last year, before she died. I don’t know where Apryl got it.” My fingers touched it gently. “Is it really celestial silver? That’s kind of weird, right?”

Eric nodded. “Yes.
To both questions.
It
is
celestial silver; otherwise it wouldn’t hide your mark. And it is weird, since it’s so rare.” He zoned out, staring at the comb. After a pause he said, “So your mom hid it for a year?”

“Yeah.
It was a birthday present. She was supposed to hide it. Apryl always did stuff like that.” Looking at him, I saw his expression change, “What’s the matter? It’s just a coincidence.” I shrugged, popping a piece of chicken into my mouth.

His amber eyes focused on my face, “There are no coincidences. Not when Valefar are around.”

I bristled, “What are you saying? That Apryl was… what?
Valefar?”

He shook his head, “Oh, God no. I didn’t mean that.” He looked at his plate, shoving more fries into his mouth.

It felt like he was hiding something from me. “Then, what did you mean?” My arms folded, defensively.

“Ivy, I mean I personally don’t believe in coincidences. That’s all. I’ve learned to look at things from all angles. It’s
kinda
required to stay alive.” His amber eyes flicked to mine, “Listen. Your sister’s present was a blessing. It came right when you needed it most. While you may accept that’s all there is to it, and that may be all it was, I have to consider what else might have happened.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t compare him to Jake, because Eric wasn’t Valefar, but my brains kept trying to draw the same conclusion, warning me not trust him. The problem was that I
did
trust him. He saved me. Of course I trusted him. I felt my arms loosen, as my offense faded. “Did you know her?” I asked softly.

Looking up, he said, “Apryl?
No, not really.”
He patted the napkin across his lips, and then placed it on his plate. “Ivy, I’m glad you have a piece of silver. There are two things every new Martis needs. One is silver.”

“What’s the other one?” I asked.

“Not what, but
who
.
There’s some
one
you need to meet—an old Martis.
Older than me.
Come on. It’s not far. I’ll take you since Jake is lurking.” He slid out of the booth and asked, “Where are your books?”

I glanced down at the table, “I left them at the school.” Shrugging, I added, “I didn’t need anything anyway.” I’d left Collin in such a hurry that I didn’t grab them.

He laughed, “We have a test tomorrow. If you used your textbook for more than a doorstop, you’d get straight A’s. You know that, right?” He leaned against the side of my booth wearing jeans, sneakers, and a crisp white tee shirt. The scent of dryer sheets and Ivory soap lingered. Eric smelled wholesome.

Laughing lightly, I scooted out of the booth, saying, “Yeah, yeah. You sound like my mom.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Eric drove without saying much, lost in his own thoughts. As we passed the Cape Cod style houses that lined the streets, we entered a neighborhood filled with life. Pumpkins lined front porches; while the more decorated houses had haystacks perfectly piled, and cornstalks tied to the porch post. I loved autumn on Long Island. It was my favorite time of year.

We pulled up to St. Bart’s parking lot a few minutes later. It was a nondescript looking church. That meant no one noticed it, because it had nothing striking about it—at all. The façade was brown, the grass was fading with the upcoming frost, and there were a few evergreens on the lawn. In other words, it was ugly, but not eyesore ugly.

Eric pushed the doors open, and I followed him inside. The hallways were silent and dark. We wound through a maze of halls, and passed a few nuns. We entered a sitting room with a haggard old nun sitting in a rocking chair. It was hard to tell, since she was wearing nun clothes, but I was sure she was built like a brick. Her body had a rectangular frame, bent with age. Her face had angular features, which must have been pretty in her youth. Sun damaged skin
freckled
her cheeks, and wiry hair that was devoid of color framed her aged face.
 
Her gaze was intensely focused on the book in her hands.

Eric cleared his throat.

The nun looked up and smiled, “Ah, Eric.
My favorite.
Come on over here and help an old lady up.” Sister Al put her book down on the table. She raised her hand to Eric. He took it, and placed his other palm on her elbow to steady her.

This was the woman who was going to teach me how to stay alive?

“Ivy Taylor, wipe that smug look off your face.” Al’s voice was noticeably less sweet than it was a moment ago. Her black habit swished around her ankles, as she spoke. My eyes darted to the floor. “That’s better,” she said. “Things are not always what they appear.”

I nodded, at a loss for what to say. “Yes ma’am.”

The nun laughed at that. “I’m Sister Althea. You may call me Sister Al.” She extended her speckled hand toward me. I placed my grip in hers. Her ancient shake had the vigor of a twenty-year-old.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. My gaze darted to Eric, who had sat in one of the padded chairs. “My name is Ivy Taylor.”

“I know who you are child. I know that there are great things planned for you. I know you
survived
already,” she winked when she said
survived
, “and I know that you feel cast adrift and afraid.”

I felt silly for admitting it to a stranger, but she was right. “That sums it up pretty well.”

“Uh huh.
I know so.” She pointed toward a chair on the other side of Eric, and returned to her rocker. “I’m older than dirt, honey. I know lots. Just ask Eric.” She paused for a moment, watching me. “There’s something different about you,” she said. I tried to hide my panic, but I had a feeling that I couldn’t hide anything from this woman. There was something about her. The nun continued, “Yes, something’s different. You carry a burden larger than most. But it’s not beyond you.” Her feet rocked her slowly as she spoke, “Many people wander through this life, unsure of who they are. It doesn’t matter much to them. But it matters to you. The problem is that you see yourself, without really seeing yourself. You have no idea who you are yet. That’s a little unusual, but manageable.”

“So, what do I do?” I asked unsure. She was speaking in riddles. I felt like I should take out a note pad, so I could figure it out later. I hated riddles, mainly because I sucked at them.

Her aged eyes locked with mine, “You need to get rid of that anger seeping into your soul before it pollutes you.” She watched me.
Closely.
I didn’t move. I neither denied, nor affirmed it. I knew I had issues. But Eric didn’t seem to like her answer. Her arthritic hands grasped the rocker as she leaned forward toward Eric. “You show her how to handle that anger. Teach her to defend herself. And then we’ll train her up right, showing her how to use all her powers—as a Martis.” Her ancient eyes bore into mine, making me flinch.

Eric faltered, reaching for the right words, “Sister, I don’t know what you mean.”

Her head snapped toward him, “You do so, boy. And I expect you to teach her. Without losing that anger festering inside her, she’ll never become who she’s meant to be.”

I snorted, “
Meant to be?
You think this is all
destiny
?” I couldn’t help it. “This isn’t destiny! This isn’t fair!” This wasn’t my destiny! It was a death sentence.

Sister Al’s eyes swept across my concealed mark before she smiled gently, and said, “No, it’s not fair that you were turned so young, while I was turned so old. It’s not fair that you had no choice. But you have a choice now. You can choose which side you want to fight for. You can choose whom you align yourself with. And you can choose how you live. Life isn’t fair, child. But you wouldn’t have been chosen if there wasn’t something special about you.” Her skin was weathered like old leather, but her eyes still sparkled like they were young. “Come here Ivy.”

I looked at Eric and he nodded, encouraging me to go.
To trust her.
I looked at the woman. She was a nun. If I couldn’t trust a nun, I was severely damaged. Feeling silly, I padded across the carpet. It muffled my clumsy steps. I stopped in front of her rocker.

Sister Al leaned forward and said, “May I?” I nodded, not knowing what she was doing. Sister Al pressed her gnarled fingers into my palm. They scratched against my smooth skin like sandpaper. I felt my body
tense,
unsure of what she was doing. Her gaze remained on my hand, as she blinked slowly. When she released me, she turned her face up to mine. For a moment she said nothing, no sparkle in her eyes—no smile on her face. It was an expression I recognized in the eyes of my mother when she was notified that Apryl died. It was like time
froze
, and she was too stunned to blink or breathe. Sister Al held the same anguished expression.

When she spoke, her voice was low. “Dear girl.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. “You have a unique set of circumstances, don’t you?” I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, wide eyed waiting for her to out me. “Your vice is also your savior. That is a very sticky situation.”

“What is it?” I asked. My stomach folded over, squashing itself into nausea.

She smiled softly at me, releasing my hand.
“Passion.
You have the strength to follow through the things that you care about, but you also have the ability to be influenced by the things that haunt you. It’s going to be problematic at some point.