The Soul's Mark: Broken (21 page)

In a motion so quick that Amelia’s eyes
couldn’t follow it, Josh grabbed Tyler’s arm, twisted it off of her, and shoved
him against the wall, all the while keeping Tyler’s arm pulled tight against
his back.  “He’s telling you to run away, Amelia, not chase him,” Josh
growled.  The jealously she saw on his face was seriously creepy, verging on
psycho-stalker creepy.

Amelia didn’t have time to react before
Tyler hissed, “Dude, she’s not into you.” He spun away from the pressure,
pulled his arm free, and then kicked out, knocking Josh back a step.  “Accept
it.  Deal with it.  Get over it.”

“Tyler,” Amelia started, but Josh cut her
off as if she wasn’t even there.

“The kiss the other night said different.”

“You kissed him?” Megan asked, looking at
Amelia as if she was a stranger, and Amelia dropped her head, not able to look
at the betrayal that shone in Megan’s eyes.

Tyler shrugged.  “She may think about it,
might even consider it, but you’re not him, man.  You’ll never fill that spot,
and even if she tries you out, she’ll get sick of you.”

“She made me for her,” Josh countered,
taking a poke at Tyler’s chest.

“Maybe, but even then, she was thinking
about him.”  Josh’s face fell and his jaw dropped as if he had never really
thought about it that way before, but then again, why would he?  Tyler closed
the short distance to Amelia and wrapped her in a fast hug.  “I know you can
fix this.”

When Tyler let her go, the tears welled up
in Amelia’s eyes.  “I will,” she said, and then before the tears could fall,
she scurried from the room.

Finding McLean didn’t take long.  He had to
be the most predictable person Mitchell knew.  He’s angry, he goes to the
station.  Happy, he’s at home.  Freaked out, he goes to his sister’s house.

Jillian McLean lived at the hub of
Willowberg in an apartment above a twenty-four hour convenience store, and
Mitchell wasn’t surprised to find the police cruiser parked in front of the
store.  As he approached, Mitchell picked up the panicked notes in McLean’s
voice, and he chuckled. 
Predictable.
  Just like Amelia.

Mitchell had rather hoped that he had been
wrong about Amelia.  But, of course, he wasn’t.  Before looking for McLean, he
had passed by his house.  He tried to tell himself that he had gone strictly to
make sure he knew where the
enemy
was, but that wasn’t entirely true.

Just as he had predicted, Amelia had gone
back to the house.  Mitchell had been a bit surprised that he had been able to
get so close, but he figured they probably were still working on securing the
block.

He knew he should have been excited that
the hunters were all together.  It would make it easier when he was ready to
attack.  Except, he wasn’t, and that’s when it really hit him; part of him had
wanted Amelia to take them and run.  And with that realization, before he could
even think about what he was doing, he climbed into her Jeep, dug around in the
glove box, and found some paper and a pen and wrote her a note.  He stuck it to
the windshield, not wanting to get too close to the house, and then he fled
before anyone could see him.

As he stood outside of the store, he pushed
Amelia from his mind.  All he could do now was hope that she would find his
note and run.  If not, he would have to figure out what to do about her later.

Mitchell went around back, and easily
snapped the feeble deadbolt that held the door to the stairs closed, and he
started up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  When he reached the top, he
threw open the apartment door.  A strong scent of bleach washed out, which
seemed out of place, as he surveyed the grungy looking apartment.  The linoleum
tiles were cracking and peeling, and the walls needed a fresh coat of paint.

McLean jumped and spun around, and when his
eyes fell on Mitchell, he gasped.  His heart raced; Mitchell could hear the
thumping and pounding within his chest, and McLean reached for Jillian, pulling
her behind him.

Mitchell leaned against the doorframe,
crossing his arms loosely over his chest.  “A little birdie told me that you’ve
been working with the hunters,” he said.

“You can’t come in here,” McLean said.  His
eyes darted to the side, and Mitchell followed them, spotting his gun lying
carelessly on the kitchen counter.

The motion stumped Mitchell for a moment. 
McLean knew bullets were useless against him, unless … Mitchell smirked,
putting it together. 
The Hunters.
  “And why’s that?” he asked, keeping
his tone even and clueless.

“Because … you … you aren’t invited,”
McLean stuttered, and backed up a few steps, pushing his sister along with him.

Mitchell laughed.  He couldn’t help it. 
Humans,
he thought.  They believe the stupidest things, anything to help them sleep at
night, he guessed.  “You’ve been watching too many movies, McLean.”  He pushed
off of the doorframe and strolled in, picking up the gun before taking a seat
on a dingy looking leather loveseat.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jillian said with
a huff, pushing at her brother.  “It’s just Mitchell.”

“Jill,” he hissed, cutting her a clear
warning look.  He pushed her back behind him, and when he looked back at Mitchell,
he visibly shuddered.

“You know, I might have overlooked this
little show of rebellion if it was only against me.  But my pet,” Mitchell
shook his head and made a
tsk
sound, “now that’s an entirely different
game.”

“Mitch,” Jillian chirped, poking her head
out from behind her brother’s back.  “He wouldn’t do that.”

“You have too much faith in your brother,”
Mitchell said.  “Didn’t he tell you, that he’s the reason for Mabel’s death? 
What makes you think he wouldn’t hurt Amelia?”  Mitchell wasn’t entirely sure
if McLean had had anything to do with Mabel’s death.  No one had actually told
him, but the theory made sense.  McLean was working with the hunters; Mabel had
known the killer, or at least one of them.  Logically, McLean fitted into the puzzle
nicely, and his stuttered response confirmed it.

“I … I … I …” McLean started, and shot
Jillian a quick sideways glance.

“He didn’t actually kill her,” Mitchell
continued lazily.  “But he did lead the hunters right to her, and he was there
when she died.”  He stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing them at
the ankles.

“I didn’t know!” McLean cried.  “They were
only supposed to talk to her.”

“Wait a minute,” Jillian said.  She stepped
out from behind McLean, and for a split second, she looked fragile, lost, and
shocked.  It didn’t last.  She flushed and yelled, “You knew?  You were there?”

“He was,” Mitchell confirmed with a nod,
sensing McLean’s quickened heart and noticing the beads of sweat forming on his
upper lip.

“Why are you here?” McLean whispered, the
question catching in his throat.

“Come on, McLean, you know why I’m here,”
Mitchell said, rolling his eyes.  “You lost your
pet
status when you
went against me.”

“Pet status?” He looked confused for a
moment, but then his eyes flashed with understanding.  His eyes darted to the
door and then back to Mitchell, as if he was trying to calculate the chances of
him making it out.  Mitchell guessed that he figured he could make it, because
he started to run.  But then, his foot caught on the edge of the rug, and he
went down, smacking his head against the coffee table as he went.

Mitchell sighed, disappointed.  He had kind
of been hoping for a bit of a chase, but looking at McLean’s limp body, it
clearly wasn’t going to happen.  He pushed up from the loveseat and walked the
few steps to McLean.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Jillian said, but
her tone sounded like she was saying the words out of duty, and the way she was
looking at her brother, with hatred and disgust, Mitchell was pretty sure that
right now she didn’t really care what happened to him, although she probably
would later.  She reached out, placing a hand on Mitchell’s forearm.  He
dropped his gaze to her hand, and when he looked back up, she shuddered away.

“Don’t make me rethink your
pet
status,
Jillian,” he warned, as he gave her a hard look, and she cringed back another
step.  He bent down, grabbed McLean, and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Are you going to kill him?” she asked. 
Her voice quivered, and her fear rushed from her skin in tantalizing waves.

“Not yet,” Mitchell replied, and without a
backwards glance, he walked out the door.

Sitting amongst the cushions on her bed in
a lotus pose, Amelia peered out the window.  Darkness was falling quickly and
with it, a darkness that this town had long ago forgotten.  She could feel it,
seeping into her bones, pulling at her core.  Vampires killing humans.  It had
happened before, but not like this.  They were quiet about it—careful.  But
Amelia couldn’t deny what she had seen.  The way Erin had openly approached her
victims, as if it was okay, normal even.  And if Erin was doing it, then what
would the rest of them be doing?  It was a question that had been playing on
Amelia’s mind since last night, and it was one that she really, really, didn’t
want the answer to.

Amelia attempted to find a centered and
serene state of mind.  Turns out, it was a task that was easier said than
done.  First off, there was just too much noise.  Even with the door shut and
her music blaring, she could still hear muffled conversations throughout the
house.  Second, she had never really been a
centered, peaceful
type of
person.  And last, she didn’t have the faintest idea as to what she was
actually doing.

Well, okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely
right.  She knew what she wanted to do—contact her mother and figure out what
she was supposed to do—but actually doing it…that’s where the big black hole in
her brain resided, and it was growing with every passing second.  And her
increasing, mind-numbing exhaustion and rumbling stomach were certainly not
helping.

Josh had stayed clear of her since she had
read the note.  Not that she minded; she was glad to get rid of his pesky
shadow looming over her all the time.  The only thing he had managed to do
since breaking the bond was add more doubts to her mind.  Part of her wanted to
send him and the hunters away, but another part was terrified of what they
might do if she did.  She didn’t know if she should try to fix the bond, or try
to give the vampires their souls back, or maybe try and do both.  She knew it
was selfish, but she couldn’t help but consider this as a way out.  Except,
even with all her complaints, she wasn’t sure if she wanted a way out.  She
tried to imagine a life without Mitchell, and she just couldn’t.  And each time
she tried, a consuming feeling of wrongness settled into her belly.

Amelia wiggled around on her bed, trying to
get comfortable.  She glanced at the clock again, 7:56, and she sighed.  She
had been sitting there for just over two hours and still hadn’t made an ounce
of progress.  Wasn’t lotus supposed to be relaxing?  Clearly not, because her
legs were tingling and starting to fall asleep.

There was a soft tap at the door before it
slid open, and Megan popped her head into the room.  For a second, Amelia was
overwhelmingly glad for the disruption, at least she was until the rest of
Megan came through the door, and then Amelia’s stomach dropped. Megan looked
tired, really tired, and her skin had taken on a grayish tone.  She had changed,
Amelia noticed, and right now, she looked like she was being swallowed up by
one of Eric’s gray tracksuits.  The hoodie was long enough to be a dress,
falling below her knees, and she had the baggy pants rolled up to the ankles so
she wouldn’t trip.  Megan hugged her arms around her stomach, pulling the
fabric closer to her skin, and she tucked in her chin, burying her nose in the
neck of the sweater.

Tyler snuck in behind her, shutting the
door tightly, and then padded over to Amelia and plopped down on the bed.  He
laid back, draping his arm over his eyes, and then let out a long, gusty sigh.

“What do you want us to do?” Megan asked,
her voice muffled in the folds of material.  She walked over to one of the big
marshmallowy leather chairs and collapsed in it, pulling her knees up to her
chest.

Amelia glanced out the window, trying to
come up with something that was remotely productive.  The inky sky was clear,
dotted with sparkling stars.

You want to talk about the fair?  About
Mitchell?  The note? 
Megan asked, after a moment’s
silence.  The sudden intrusion in her brain made her jump.  Tyler groaned, and
then rolled over, snoring softly.

Amelia sighed, untangled her legs, and
eased herself off the bed, trying not to wake him.  “There’s nothing to talk
about,” she said, switching to spoken words, wanting to say it out loud, as if
hearing it with her own ears would ease the doubts that had been sprouting up
like wild flowers.  She made her way over to Megan, curling up across from her
in the chair.

“Millie, he let you go,” Megan whispered,
as if she wasn’t entirely sure that it was the truth.