Part 20 (1/2)
”New York isn't bad. The tourists are very good for dinner,” Raphael drawled.
”Not as much as Florida s...o...b..rds in season. ca c'est bon.” Damian kissed his fingers in an exaggerated manner.
This was followed by a heated discussion on repulsive foods.
”The only food I refuse to touch is a black cat on Halloween night. Bad luck,” Alexandre ventured. He grinned and reached for another steak.
Jamie's smile slipped. The meat she'd successfully downed turned to vinegar. She tried, oh, she tried, but suddenly time flashed back. Her stomach pitched and rolled. Fresh air, she needed fresh air. She was going to...
Bolting from the table, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Running down the hall, for the kitchen and the back door, praying, please, not here. Not going to make it, not going to make it, no, no...
She had barely dashed through the back door when she began retching into the garden. On her hands and knees, she emptied her stomach, her whole body shaking.
The back door banged. She didn't look up, only scrubbed her tears away. If someone came along and kicked her in the abdomen, she couldn't feel worse.
A pair of polished loafers came into view. Jamie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Ashamed, she slowly stood.
Silently Damian handed her a small, clean towel. She scrubbed her mouth, wis.h.i.+ng she could cover herself with the cloth and vanish, like a magician's rabbit.
A soothing stroke of rea.s.surance entered her mind, like arms holding her. But the images she held there, the memories...
Too late, Jamie tried slamming Damian out. Shock glazed his eyes.
”Jamie, what did those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds do?” he asked hoa.r.s.ely. He gripped her upper arms gently, holding her steady.
Dropping the towel, Jamie dully let him guide her to a small wrought-iron chair, and collapsed onto it.
”Please, tell me. There's nothing you can't share with me.” He pulled up a chair, sat and brushed back her sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. ”Is this why you refused to eat with my family?”
Gulping down a breath, she nodded. He'd already seen the graphic horror. She didn't look at him.
”When my parents died, my aunt Miranda and uncle Clement took me in. They were my only relatives besides Mark, and he was off on some African expedition and didn't want me. Not until he realized he needed me to secure all our parents' inheritance. Uncle Clement was my mother's brother. He never liked her. Said she was the devil's child.”
Oh G.o.d, this was so difficult. She struggled for words never told to anyone, not even Mark, who knew how cruel they were.
”I was five and different from my cousins. Refused to do what they liked-play with dolls or games. So they picked on me. Did stuff at the dinner table, salted my food, nasty kid stuff until my uncle got fed up and just fed me out on the porch, a plate on the floor, like the family dog. My cousins said it was because I wasn't fit company. I was...a witch. Just like my mother.”
Damian kept stroking her head. She plucked up courage. ”My best friend was a black cat. I loved Mercedes. She kept me company when no one else would play with me. I was terrified my cousins would find out. I hid Mercedes in the barn. But my cousins found her. They said only witches had black cats. The cat was evil. My uncle...he...he...”
Jamie wrapped her arms around herself and met his steady gaze. ”He killed Mercedes. He...he...cut off her head and made me watch. That night, for the first time, they let me eat at the dinner table. They gave me a special plate. I thought...oh G.o.d, I thought they were being nice for once.”
Horror tinged his expression, as if he antic.i.p.ated her next words.
”I ate the meat. It tasted a little funny, but I was so hungry...and then they started laughing at me. My cousin Ronnie told me what I was eating.... They'd cooked Mercedes.... I was eating my own d.a.m.n cat....”
Damian bit out a rich curse.
”I never ate meat again.” She gulped down a breath. ”Until the other day, when I ate the cube steak.”
Acid rose in her throat. No tears. She couldn't cry, hadn't in years. Even then. Not one tear shed over losing the only real friend she had. And now, here in the quiet safety of the courtyard, she wanted to cry. Couldn't. Her eyes were drier than the Sahara, grief kept at bay like metal doors holding back howling dogs.
”Jamie,” Damian said thickly.
Working up her courage, she glanced up. And saw to her dumbfounded shock something clear and wet glistening on his face.
A single tear dripped down Damian's cheek.
A single tear, just like the one she had wept over him as he'd lain dying.
Marveling, she touched the droplet. Brought it to her mouth, tasting it. Salty. Pure. This is what grief tastes like.
Jamie brought her hands to his face like a blind person, tracing over his cheeks, his solemn mouth, the anguished eyes. She wiped his tear away with her palm, her heart turning over as he opened his arms to her.
Curling up in his lap, she clutched fistfuls of his sweater as he held her. After a moment, she pressed a kiss into the strong muscles of his neck.
”I'll avenge you,” he promised.
”Too late. I saw his obit a few years ago. Liver trouble.”
His eyes darkened to swirls of furious green, like the sea churned by a violent hurricane. Damian cupped her face. ”Never again will anyone or anything hurt you. So long as there is breath in my body I will see to it. Do you understand?”
His ferocity scared her a little, until she realized his anger was directed at her past. Jamie smiled, placing her hands over his.
Damian leaned down, his forehead touching hers. ”You amaze me, ma belle pet.i.te. You are a beautiful, ever-changing zirondelle.”
When the back door slammed, they looked up to see Raphael amble down the steps. Jamie scrambled to her feet. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. ”If the steak isn't sitting well, we have chicken. But you must eat. Tell me what you want, and I'll prepare it.”
His thoughtfulness surprised her. ”I'm really okay.”
”You need to keep up your strength or the spell will start spreading again.” This from Damian, who came behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders. ”Rafe, how is she doing?”
The Draicon leaned forward, reaching out for her face with his hand. Jamie shrank back.
”It's okay, Jamie. Let Rafe look at you. He's our Kallan, an immortal, and the only one who can dispatch the life of another Draicon without consequence. He can see into the eyes and discern a person's future. Let him examine you and he can see if the spell is accelerating,” Damian said quietly.
Jamie blinked, wondering if she wanted this kind of power this close. But Damian was behind her, supporting her.
With a small start, she realized she trusted Damian.
She nodded. Raphael took her face in one hand. With the other, he gently opened her right eye wide. Jamie's gaze locked on his, drawn to the odd whiteness spreading over his pupil, turning it into brilliance-like fog-like looking into a yawning chasm of forever.
Her own death stared back at her.
Stifling a scream, she yanked away. Raphael released her, stepped back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his Armani jacket. Would ruin the lines, she thought dimly.
”Your magick is holding the spell at bay, Damian, but it'll begin spreading soon. Don't exercise any of your powers, Jamie, or it will accelerate,” he said in an authoritative voice. ”You need protein. I'll warm up some chicken for you.”