Page 33 of Chasing the Flame
He looks at me again, seemingly pleading with his eyes. A sense of guilt and regret floods me, and I know it’s not my own. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what they were going to do to her. It’s just a prank, they’ll wake up in a few hours—that’s what he told me.”
It feels like a stone is lodged in my stomach, the weight unbearable with each passing second. “I tried to stop it, but he chained me to the floor. He forced me to watch as he killed her.”
A flash of a horned beast, claws, and blood burst into my vision. Golden hair, hazel eyes, and the gurgles—oh, god, the sound! Nausea churns in my stomach, and I know I’m about to vomit. I rush to the sink, expelling the contents of my belly in a violent upheaval. “Great,” I mutter, turning on the faucet and rinsing my mouth with water.
I feel, rather than see, Jettson’s gaze on me. Heat flashes all over my body, awareness tingling up my spine. Turning, I fight the urge to run, facing Jettson head-on. “Sorry, I—”
“How long has that been happening?” He asks, his brows furrowing.
Gulping, I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like sandpaper. I practically dive for the glass of whiskey, downing it in two long drinks. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I say finally, averting my gaze.
“This only works if you’re honest with me.” His smile is knowing but not condescending. “Look, I know it’s a lot to take in.”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck before saying, “It’s just that it’s new. I don’t know how, but I can feel your pain and saw flashes of what happened.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at me as if trying to form his next sentence. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “I believe you. The stuff you found in that hidden room? The same symbols were all over the place the night he murdered Jenny. It took some time and research, but I figured out what it's for.”
My heart drops to my ass, and I let loose a nervous chuckle as I say, “What, don’t tell me it’s a spell to conjure an ancient evil.”
The tension in the room skyrockets, the silence suddenly louder than any scream. I go to speak—to fill the unbearable silence—but before I can Jettson frowns, shakes his head and says, “I can’t say that, darlin’, because that’s exactly what it is.”
Panic claws at my chest, and that horrible feeling presses in on me. It’s agonizing, and I can’t stand how my hands shake or my lungs seize during the attack. Jettson doesn’t hesitate, gripping my hands and forcing me to look at him with just a simple phrase. “Up here, Averie. I got you.”
And he does. Jettson holds my hands until the tremors stop and my pulse descends to a normal pace. When the panic leaves me, anger creeps into its place. This is ridiculous. I want to scream at him, to tell him how crazy it sounds. I should be pummeling him with questions, but only one feels important right now.
I exhale slowly, taking time to think before I speak, asking the question that’s burning at the back of my mind. “What does this mean forme?”
“I don’t know.” He admits. “But whatever he’s planning, it’s not good. That spell is a way to summon Nytherion—or, his cohorts—to the earthly realm.”
“Jettson,” I say, trying to find the words that seem permanently lodged in my throat. “This is a lot to process, and truthfully? I’m fucking terrified. It feels like I’m stuck in an episode ofBuffy.” At his confused look, I add, “You know, like a vampire is gonna jump out and attack me around the next curve in the catacombs.”
A pained and haunted look comes across his face. The room starts spinning, sending nervous energy rippling through my body. This is my worst fucking nightmare. “I won’t let them win.” He says, his tone absolute and pulling me from my dark thoughts.
The sincerity in his gaze sends a new wave of conviction through me. If my visions are real, then I can’t afford to take this lying down. My life just might be on the line.
With a deep breath, I ask, “What can I do to help?”
The following two days pass in a blur, and I’m still no closer to the answers I need. I’ve taken Jettson’s advice, steering clear of the room upstairs.
Accepting that despite my claims, I’m not ready for any more visions. Mercifully, no more menacing texts have come through, though I’m still exceptionally curious to know what that’s about. I probably should’ve said something to Jettson, but every time I go to say the words, I can’t.
So, like the ridiculous scaredy cat I am, I’ve thrown myself into my work. Drawing inspiration from the situation and using it to fuel my writing. It helps that I’ve also snooped through all of Luke’s belongings. I had a feeling that my search would be fruitless before I started. That still didn’t stop the sting yesterday when I failed to unearth anything new.
His business trip has been extended. Truth be told? I’m grateful he won’t return until Friday. I have the whole weekend and much of next week to figure out what I feel for Jettson without interference.
I’m not sure if I should be wary or relieved.
I know I’m drawn to him, and can’t seem to stay away. No matter how much I keep telling myself I’m playingwith fire, I can’t stop. It’s been a torturous two days. Jettson finished my new dining table yesterday and moved to the bench and chairs. He’s working in my backyard, and there are occasional harsh sounds of the saw cutting into wood as he moves to the next piece.
It’s slow work, but thanks to the semi-cool day, it seems like he’s gotten a lot done. The French doors of my kitchen are open, the wind gently blowing the sheer curtains. I’m on my third cup of coffee, my body completely exhausted, but my mind just won’t stop turning.
Jettson kept his promise, bringing me a book titled: The Forsaken Bond. For the last half hour, I’ve been staring at the ancient-looking leather binding delicately carved with beautiful designs. Vines, flowers, flames, and what looks suspiciously like horns and skulls litter the binding and cover. There’s a leather strap around the middle, and a golden buckle that seals the pages together.
My hands have trailed the edges multiple times, trying to reconcile with everything Jettson has told me and everything that’s happened. No matter how much I try, my mind can’t fully wrap around it all.
And those damn texts!
It’s like a murky fog whenever I try to combine all the pieces. My mind is bogged down with information, running in circles on a constant loop, trying to figure out how it’s all connected. Memories that keep slithering through my mind—all of Luke. I can’t help but wonder…what does he really want with me?
