The Amber Lee Boxed Set

  I could feel the creature's foulness, wrongness, infecting me now. It was like a snake trying to get back into the skin it had just shed. Somehow, the creature was almost too big for my body to contain and caused my throat to swell as it climbed into me. Entered me. I could feel it searching for my soul, turning over every nook and cranny as it went. My inner light began to dim, and with it so too did my vision blur into a peaceful black. It was like being pushed beneath a calm body of water. Down, down, down into the deep I went, and the world receded away from me.

  But at the edge of my perceptions, I heard something—a shout—and the hand released me! I was free, and I could breathe! So I broke for the surface and, gasping, I clutched my aching throat and coughed through the sudden release. My insides were mush, my throat and ability to speak pulverized. The entity had almost taken me and its passage had left my entire body feeling like it had been dragged across a pit of filth. It was in my mouth, ears, and nose. Every breath, every heave of my chest, was pain and dirt and filth.

  Around me, something was happening.

  A gunshot rang out, then another and another. The hooded men scrambled out of sight, some faster than others. Was it a battle? I could hear grunting, growling, and cracking. But I couldn't see what was going on because, towering over my chest, the black and purple mass was reeling and writhing; its features warping and changing, clouds of black and purple ink morphing into a face, hands, claws.

  I watched, desperately trying to slip my dainty wrists out of the leather straps, as the creature folded into and out of itself, as if it was unsure of what form to take. Was it stunned? I couldn’t hear the priest’s voice—couldn’t see him in whatever commotion was taking place—but then again I didn’t stop to look for him.

  Then my fingers started to tingle. A familiar vibration settled into the palms of my hands, and while my wrists were still bound I could still flex my hands and clench them into fists, welcoming the return of my Power. It was back, and outside the clouds were starting to churn. The Guardian had heard my prayer after all.

  I narrowed my eyes, stared the devil in the face, and said "Burn in the Goddess' fire."

  The entity screeched and the windows burst into fragments. Inside its ethereal form, motes of silver light were manifesting and growing into burning embers. I watched the creature flail and whine as, in an instant, its shadow body burst into a pillar of pale fire bright enough to sear the eyes of anyone looking at it; anyone but me.

  Several cultists staggered back and shielded their eyes. The demon's wail continued until, in a brilliant explosion, its manifestation came apart in thousands of fiery silver fragments that caused everything they touched to combust. Silent, silver flames were starting to climb along the sides of the ruined building now, up walls and toward the ceiling. This was the Goddess' fury, her outrage, working through me. Her vessel.

  Her child of light.

  A set of heavy, thumping footsteps caught my attention and I turned my head in time to catch a huge, towering creature—a beast?—charging through the wooden door and into the room I was in. I had to look away to shield my face from the explosion of splinters following its bull-rush into the building, but I heard the struggle and the pained cry of a man impaled by something sharp and large. And then came the gargling of a man choking on his own blood and the thud of a body hitting the wooden floor.

  I wriggled and struggled to get out of the binds but movements caught the beast's attention and when it stalked around the stone slab, crossing by my legs, I could see it for what it was. It was standing on two legs; a body roughly human in shape covered in rippling muscles and fur which shimmered under the brilliant light of the silent flames consuming the room. But that's where the resemblance to a human ceased, for in place of a human head was the snarling snout of a wolf with glowing blue eyes—and it looked damn pissed.

  Werewolf, I thought without thinking.

  Was I dreaming? No. I wasn't dreaming. And the werewolf was advancing on me! But something was happening to it. The muscles and bones in its body began to twist and contort, shrinking somehow. Its gray fur was shedding and dropping off in huge clumps until all that was left was Aaron. Aaron! Covered in blood and breathing deep, with three circular scars on his bare chest where once there were three bullet wounds.

  He rushed at the stone slab and untied my restraints, freeing me to sit upright and level my head with his. For a few seconds, seconds which seemed like hours, I didn't move or speak. Our bodies were glowing under the light of the cold, silent fire—a fire so powerful it was causing the wooden ceiling to disintegrate and fall lazily on us in ashy flakes.

  But the space between us wasn't cold.

  I could feel the heat between us and see it rising like a haze. If he had words, he didn't use them. Maybe we were just happy to see each other alive. But I wasn't sure what he would do. He was a werewolf. Or at least, he had been a moment ago. And now he wasn't. I could hear the conveyor belt of questions in my mind begin to fire up. Bags would come soon. Question bags. But before my mouth could move he plunged his blood-soaked hands into my hair as if it were a pool of water, tipped my neck toward his, and closed the gap between our lips.

  We locked, electric. Carnal. Raw.

  The moment stood still, hanging in time like the high point in a demolition as the explosion sends ripples through a building but the structure doesn't topple. In that instant I felt what he was feeling. I drank his aura and tasted it on my lips and tongue. Primal. Glad. Hungry. The moment was like a deep inhalation and only when the kiss broke could we breathe.

  Aaron.

  I was caught in a spell. Emotions fluttered around the cavern of my chest like birds trying to find a way out into the sunlight, trying to find a clear path through the darkness. Knees trembling. Lips quivering. I thought this man was dead!

  "We have to get out of here," he said.

  I snapped back into the moment like a dislocated limb; that is to say, painfully. Aaron grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit.

  "No!" I said.

  "No? Amber, we have to get out of here. Now!" His voice was like a wolf's growl.

  But I couldn't leave.

  The priest had said something to me which I couldn't get out of my head. The witch, the demon and the wolf. What did he mean? Was Aaron the wolf? I needed answers. A quick scan around the altar allowed me to find the book the priest had been reading from; sitting pretty next to priest's burning corpse. Though the floorboards around the book were ablaze with holy fire, the book itself was unscathed amidst the flames. In fact, the flames seemed to be avoiding it altogether.

  I threw my hand out and the book flew at me from across the room, propelled by telekinetic Magick.

  "C'mon!" Aaron said, tugging again.

  We made for the exit, pushing through the cold flames and avoiding falling beams of wood as the building collapsed around us. Outside was all blood and snow and corpses—a real gory mess, a mess that Aaron had caused—but he was alive.

  We both were.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Two days later.

  Frank and I were back in my attic, sitting on bean bags and drinking cider. Not home-made this time, but regular berry cider from the store down the street, chilled to perfection. In his hands was the book I had stolen from the burning building. He had asked me if he could leaf through it and I couldn't find a reason to say no.

  So there he was, lost in the page.

  I was sitting opposite from him in the lotus position with my can of cider between my legs and the iron cauldron we had hauled up here the other night still between us. Getting it into the attic had been a great feat, so we were in no rush to take it back down. Where would it go, in any case? The cauldron was ours, and I guessed it made more sense for the piece to become a permanent part of the scenery up in the attic than for it to gather dust in the garage.

  "I don't know," I said, continuing an earlier thread of conversation, "I could go back to University and keep studying, I guess.
"

  "You know me,” Frank said, “I don't believe in formalized education being a measure of your intellectual power. You can and will learn way more out in the real world. But it doesn't hurt to at least be prepared."

  "So you think I should go back?"

  "If it makes you happy, go back. If it's a burden, don't."

  I couldn't say class had been a burden. I enjoyed learning, and I loved the subject matter. Going back to class meant having to prove myself to the professor, though. It meant long hours of learning and working and little free time. And then there was the matter of Eliza’s baby. What then? She wouldn't be able to work at the store so I would have to pick up more hours.

  "Speaking of happy and burdens," Frank said, "Where do we stand on Damien?"

  Damien.

  My feelings were mixed when it came to him. Whatever anger I felt toward him had been placated by the immensity of what happened to me the other night, but I still couldn't trust him. Not in a romantic way.

  "We'll find out in a little while, won't we?" I said.

  Frank dipped the book below his eye-line. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean he's coming here, and we're going to talk."

  "What? When?"

  I checked. "Soon."

  "And are you going to be civil?"

  "No. I'm going to scream and holler at him for being such a giant tool-bag."

  "Oh good! I'm glad I'll be here for that."

  "Actually, you won't be. You're going to sit up here and keep reading that book while I go downstairs and talk to him. Understood?"

  "Yes,” he said and after a moment’s pause he added, under his breath, “Witch."

  I threw him a smirk and stood, stretched, and crossed over to my shrine. Earlier I had filled a bowl with holly leaves and planted three candles into it; one white, one black, and one green. Behind the candles was a picture—the only picture I had—of Kyle wearing a blue baseball cap and jersey. This arrangement of herbs and candles was part of a spell I had cast to send goodwill and protection to the man whom I had hurt so long ago.

  "Be safe, Kyle," I said, "If I ever see you again I’ll tell you how sorry I am."

  "That's a good little white witch," Frank said.

  I turned to look at him and smiled. "It's about time I started taking this seriously,” I said.

  "Damn right. Magick is not to be fucked with or used lightly. Self-defense is one thing, but harm with intent is another."

  I was about to reply when a tingle manifested upon my right shoulder, as if a phantom bird had landed on it. "Damien's here," I said.

  "What? How do you know that?"

  "Magick," I said, smiling, and I headed for the ladder, climbed down a floor, and marched toward the front door where Damien was waiting.

  I unlocked, opened, and let him and the cold December air in. It was cold out and snowing. Everything was white, even he.

  "Hey," I said.

  "Hi."

  His aura appeared to me as a cloud of muted grey surrounding his head. Depression. Exhaustion.

  "Listen, about the other night—" I said.

  "Could I... say something first?" he said, cutting me off.

  "Okay, sure."

  Damien nodded, but paused for a moment before he decided to speak. "Everything happened so fast," he started, "One minute she was in my house and the next minute you were gone."

  "What could I have done?"

  "No, you... did the right thing. I would have been pissed too. I just want you to know that I'm... sorry... for everything. I royally screwed up with you and you didn't deserve that."

  I didn't need for him to say it again to understand how tough this was for him. I guessed I was starting to understand him a little better, though. Damien liked to make things difficult for himself. He did it with Natalie and now again with me. Some people enjoyed hardship. Others even lived for it.

  I sighed. "Look, I was pissed. Yes. Really, I was. But I'm over it now."

  Damien cocked an eyebrow. "Over it?"

  "Yes. I'm over it. I'm a big girl, okay? Besides, Frank told me you went out looking for me with him." I decided to omit the part where Damien had told me himself... when I saw him in a daydream.

  "I did," he said, "I knew you were in danger, so I called Frank."

  "I know. And I'm happy that you did. It means I can trust you as a member of our Coven; trust that you'll put aside spending quality time with your girlfriend if your sister is in danger."

  "I wasn't—"

  "Damien, it's okay. You have a girlfriend and for whatever reason you can't break it off with her. I think you're an idiot—a huge idiot—for getting involved with impossible people, but we weren't a thing for that long. And once the shock and the dust settled I found myself able to think, so I've decided to be supportive."

  "That's... really big of you."

  I shrugged. "Near death experiences have a way of putting things into perspective. But I need you to understand something."

  "What's that?"

  "We're over, and you can't try and win me back. Even if you broke it off for real with Natalie."

  Silence hung in the air. I was still no closer to being able to read minds, but the cloud of color over the crown of his head was starting to shift to a light pink. Still muted, but pink and not gray; and that was something. To me, the color of his aura felt like friendship. Maybe even love. Friendly love. But for whom?

  "It's gonna be tough," he said.

  "Yeah. For both of us. But you should have thought of that before you tried to game the system. And if we ever bring anyone else into our coven, no one is allowed to sleep with them. Not even Frank."

  Damien nodded. "That's fair," he said.

  No. Fair would have been not lying to me about Natalie. Fair would be us being happy, like we were before this started. Fair would have been me not getting humiliated. But when presented with a choice one has to take the moral high road, because to hold on to rage and vengeance is to invite evil into your life. I had done it once and I didn't know how far the consequences of my actions had gone; but I wasn't going to do it again.

  "So, I guess this is it?" he said.

  "No," I said, "This isn't it. I'm going to see you again tomorrow. But for now, yes, I have stuff to do."

  Damien nodded and hesitated before going for the door.

  "Damien," I said. He turned, and I hugged him.

  The embrace lingered, but not because there was any romance in it. This was a hug to symbolize a fresh beginning, a better beginning. One forged in light instead of darkness. And when I glanced over at my bay window and saw the front yard and the street covered in puffy white snow, I had no doubts that it would be.

  Damien left and I watched him hug his coat shut and walk down the street. I would have offered him a ride home but I knew he enjoyed walking in the snow much in the same way as I enjoyed walking in the rain.

  "How'd it go?" Frank asked, startling me.

  "How long have you been there for?" I asked, turning to him.

  "Long enough. Am I really not allowed to sleep with the next person who joins our Coven?"

  “No.”

  “But what if he’s really cute as well as gay? Beggars can’t be choosers, and Raven’s Glen isn’t exactly known for its gay community.”

  “I said no, okay? Anyway it went well with Damien. I think we're gonna be okay."

  "Well, good because it fucks with my mellow when the two of you fight."

  "I'm glad your mellow won't be fucked with, then."

  "Me too. Now come and look at this."

  Frank was holding the book open to a specific page. On one leaf there was an image of a goat-man descending upon a wolf and a woman; on the other, a large block of Latin text which would take me a while to translate. I remembered the priest's words, though, and the image on the page took me back to the phrase he had spoken aloud: "witch and wolf and demon."

  "Turns out they got it wrong," Frank said.

  "What do you mean?" I asked
.

  "Says here that the child of a gray wolf and a red witch would inherit the power of both parents. Coupled with blood touched by the devil, the child would spell doom for the world."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Witch, please. I double check my facts."

  "So, how did they get it wrong?"

  "Unless I'm mistaken they needed a werewolf to be able to make this work, and I don't know of any werewolves living around here. Do you?"

  I did, only I hadn't told anyone. And in any case, he wasn’t the worst secret I was hold on to… for the good of all.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Afternoon had come and mine was the only car on the white, icy, winding road leading out of Raven's Glen. When Frank left my place he wasn't aware of the weight he had dropped on my shoulders. Demon and Witch and Wolf. I wanted to tell him what I knew about Aaron, that I could still feel part of the Demon, the Incubus, inside of me, but I couldn't. Not yet. It was too soon, and I was only too aware of the pitfalls of speaking too soon and leaping without looking.

  I needed to be sure first.

  Because the last time I made half-cocked assumptions I almost got myself and someone I cared about killed. To think, for the longest time I thought Aaron—wracked with pain as he was—had been the Demon’s target. That his temper, his ill health and his night terrors were all being caused by an external force attempting to take control of his body. In my want to be right I had never stopped to consider that the source of his personal ordeal, the long, painful transformation into a werewolf, was internal and not at all linked to the demon attempting to attack me.

  Unless a link existed and I just couldn’t see it?

  When Aaron sent me a text asking me to come and meet him on the edge of the freeway, however, I didn’t hesitate to do as he had asked. Aaron and I stayed at my place when we got back from the woods that night, and while I hadn’t seen him since he went home the next morning, I didn’t miss him. We shared something now, a bond forged in moonfire and blood. A bond more powerful, even, than the secrets which surrounded it. Unbreakable. This was something no one would be able to take away from us.