Chapter One
The blow to her head hurt more than just Amber's pride,
especially because she should have seen it coming. She had
expected her opponent to follow the jumping inside crescent
kick with a jumping toe kick, but he changed it up on her,
throwing in a roundhouse combo that shoved her
off–balance and sent her straight to the ground.
Get your head on straight, Hopkins, she thought,
irritated with herself for being distracted enough to take
the hit.
Springing back up, she bounced on the balls of her feet
and once again faced her opponent. Ignoring the noise and
spectacle around her, she focused exclusively on the battle
at hand. This time, when her opponent came in with a
spear–hand strike, she countered with a high block,
then used her forward momentum to step in close and take him
down with a double leg sweep.
"Break!"
At the instructor's command, Amber immediately
straightened rather than following the move with her
finishing strike. She reached down to help her sparring
partner, Timothy Mason, to his feet. He grasped her hand
much as he had many other times over their years practicing
together. Because they were about the same height, they were
often paired together for sparring.
"Good job, Hopkins," their instructor, Mr. Jenkins, said.
"Keep that up, you just might take the trophy at nationals
next month."
Amber bowed, as did her fellow black belts, as the class
was dismissed. Collecting her gear and slinging her
well–worn equipment bag over her shoulder, she moved
to the front of the karate center. Catching the proud gaze
of Mrs. B—as she and her fellow foster and best
friend, Gabriel Reid, called their guardian, Clara
Burke—she felt a flush heat her cheeks.
"That was excellent work, Little Star," Mrs. B said,
using the nickname she had given Amber several years ago.
"Thanks," Amber said, shifting her bag uncomfortably over
the praise. Then she ventured, "Since I'm all sweaty, I
probably shouldn't be going to get my hair done."
"Nonsense." Mrs. B's humored expression told Amber that
her guardian was on to her. "Lulu will shampoo your hair. I
want to do this for you. You only get one
end–of–the–year pool party when you're
about to graduate high school, after all."
While Amber knew quite well that there were worse things
in life to endure than spending half the day at a beauty
salon, she was rather hard–pressed to think of any at
that moment. Despite her qualms, she soon found herself
shepherded into Mrs. B's car and driven to her guardian's
favored salon.
Within the hour, she sat in a chair undergoing what was
to her a very foreign—and very female—ritual. A
fuchsia smock covered the shorts and
T–shirt she had changed into, and her hair, having
already been snipped and trimmed into what she was assured
was a flattering style that didn't remove too much length,
was now covered in some kind of goop she had been told would
"bring out her natural highlights." The steady hum of a hair
appliance and the chatter of female voices buzzed around her
ears as the sharp and pungent scents of permanent and
highlighting solutions assaulted her nose.
She still couldn't believe she had agreed to this. Mrs. B
sprang it on her before the haze of sleep had cleared her
brain, and Amber figured that had a good deal to do with it.
"It's time for me to give you your graduation present,
Little Star," Mrs. B had said that morning as Amber downed
her usual breakfast of orange juice.
"Present?" Amber echoed as though this was an unheard of
concept.
"Yes, indeed. Gabriel isn't the only one who can
acknowledge the hard work you put toward passing your final
exams. I'd like to take you to the salon for a nice haircut
before the pool party."
"Aw, come on, Mrs. B." She felt her shoulders hunch in
discomfort.
"Don't give me any nonsense, child," Mrs. B responded
calmly as she sipped her morning tea and read the paper. She
was ever the educated southern lady when she spoke, and she
made sure her charges modeled themselves accordingly. If
nothing else, it had gotten Amber straight A's in English.
"You are absolutely deserving of my praise and recognition.
I don't want to hear a word otherwise."
It was eerie how Mrs. B got straight to the heart of the
matter. Amber had frowned into her juice glass and wished
futilely that Gabriel was already awake, then looked through
her eyelashes at the woman who had raised her since she was
twelve.
Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window and gleamed
across Mrs. B's reading glasses. The years had been kind
despite the hardships she had faced. Sure, there was now a
bit of gray sprinkled in her hair that hadn't been there six
years ago, but she otherwise appeared much as she had the
day Amber first trudged through her door. Indeed, her
constancy was one of the biggest gifts Amber had ever
received, and all she ever wanted.
She supposed accepting a graduation present from the
woman who had raised her into adulthood when so many others
had passed on the opportun¬ity was the least she could do.
"Okay," she had said finally, trying not to sound too
grudging. She even managed to contain her instinctive eye
roll, but when she saw one corner of Mrs. B's mouth rise,
she realized she hadn't quite passed it off.
And now here she was, sitting in the salon of Mrs. B's
stylist and friend, Lulu Medley. Aptly named Lulu's Beauty
Shack, the salon had been established in the basement of
Lulu's 1920's home on Toombs Street in the hospitable,
postage–stamp town of Palmetto, Georgia, not even
fifteen miles from their home in Newnan. Amber's
apprehension over this experience was high enough since she
hadn't had her hair cut in forever, but when considering the
fact that Lulu catered primarily to African–American
clients—and Amber's skin was pale as the
moon—she held more than one internal debate over the
wisdom of having caved to Mrs. B's "gift."
Fortunately, Lulu seemed to know her business. She had
either sensed Amber's reluctance the moment she opened her
front door or had been coached ahead of time by Mrs. B. Her
no–nonsense nod and knowledgeable scan of her client's
appearance served to ease some of Amber's anxiety, and the
offer of a Coke and a homemade chocolate chip cookie worked
its own kind of magic. Before she knew it, Amber had changed
her clothes and was being ushered into the stylist's chair
and draped in the fuchsia smock.
"Clara, you were right about her," Lulu said now with a
nod at Amber.
The stylist, obviously at a waiting stage, sat what some
might term a sizable backside into a straight–backed
chair near Mrs. B. The rather uncomfortable–looking
seat was situated between the three salon chairs in the room
and the small waiting area complete with a coffee table
sporting magazines and photo albums. Since the room was
probably not much bigger than thirty feet across, the
comment was easily discernible.
Amber struggled not to squirm and dared not glance at the
other stylist and client in the room. Because the second
stylist was a younger, slimmer version of Lulu, Amber
assumed she was her daughter. She seemed completely focused
on working in the second client's elaborate weave as they
chatted about the client's three children, but Amber sensed
their eyes flicking to her at the comment.
Wishing there was something in the room to read besides
People, Ebony or girly hair magazines (couldn't they have
even one Spin or Rolling Stone?), she drummed her fingers on
her thigh under the smock and prayed for a quick end.
"Of course I am," Mrs. B said in her steady and unhurried
tone. She had been reading a new edition of Southern Living
and paused to look up at Amber. They caught gazes in the
mirror and Mrs. B smiled. "My Little Star has a lot of shine
just waiting for the right polish."
Amber felt the crinkle of her brow as she puzzled over
the words.
"Oh, yes...speaking of polish, I want to give her a nice
manicure and pedicure," Lulu said. "My treat."
"Why, isn't that sweet of you, Lulu?"
Lord, would this ordeal never end? Amber had never in her
life wanted to be fluffed and pampered like other females
seemed to enjoy so much. It just seemed utterly impractical.
Between karate and playing the guitar, she kept her nails
short and unpolished. What good would a manicure do her? And
the last thing she intended to do was show off her long,
skinny, size–ten feet in some girly sandals. Sneakers
had always been her shoe of choice.
How had she ever allowed herself to be talked into this?
She was out of her mind for even thinking she would be able
to follow through with going to this pool party.
"Lulu, while you finish up with Amber, I have a couple of
errands to run," Mrs. B said then, making Amber's throat
tighten in unease. She set her magazine down and got to her
feet. "I'll be back in a short while. Try to enjoy your time
with Lulu, Little Star."
Rather than risk speaking, Amber nodded and watched her
walk out. It really wigged her out to be essentially
abandoned in such an anxiety–inducing environment. But
she knew that allowing herself to succumb to high levels of
stress right now was a very bad idea. If her life followed
its typical freakish pattern...well, with her eighteenth
birthday soon approaching, things could get very bad very
quickly.
Sitting through an unwanted beauty appointment would be
the least of her problems.
"That's a great woman right there," Lulu said as she got
back to her feet and walked over to give Amber's hair an
assessing look.
"Yeah," Amber agreed. She checked her eyes in the mirror,
looking for any signs of a forthcoming incident, and focused
on controlling her breathing as her anxiety crested.
"She'll sure miss you kids."
Amber caught Lulu's sharp gaze in the mirror, temporarily
forgetting about her other concerns. "Mrs. B mentioned the
trip to Alaska?"
She was referring to the long–awaited graduation
trip that she and Gabriel had been planning for the past two
years. Because she had always wanted to go to Alaska,
Gabriel had vowed to go with her if she passed her finals.
In truth, with as much as she hated school, his promise and
dedication to their shared goal was what had gotten her
through her recently–finished exams. There had been
many times when the only thing that motivated her during the
school day was the sight of Gabriel holding his hands up in
the shape of a letter "A," their silent signal to each other
symbolizing the trip.
The stylist waved Amber's comment aside. "‘Course Clara
mentioned it. She's very excited for y'all. But she realizes
this is just the first step. You and Gabriel are headed to
college. You both have jobs and will probably want to find a
place of your own soon."
That caused Amber a bit of a jolt. Lulu hadn't said
"places of your own," but the singular "place of your own."
Did Mrs. B think that Amber and Gabriel would get a place
together because they were both going to attend Georgia
State University? Their plans hadn't progressed that far
yet.
She had to admit that the idea held great appeal to her.
She certainly hadn't dwelled on what would happen when
college started in the fall. But there had been more than a
few moments when she had lain awake in her bedroom wondering
what she would do when Gabriel, who always made friends
easily with his natural affability and charm, inevitably got
involved in college activities that didn't include her and
their lives turned down their separate paths. Those private
thoughts always left an unmistakable hole in her heart.
Of course, with her birthday approaching, she knew there
was every possibility that their parting of ways could come
even sooner than that.
Every three years since she'd been born, she experienced
what she had come to call an "incident." The incidents,
being bizarre, unexplainable and just plain creepy, had
resulted in much upheaval in her life. And she admitted to
herself that she was worried—okay,
terrified—that the next incident would be the one that
finally severed her relationship with Gabriel, the only
friend she'd ever had. Sure, he'd stuck with her after the
incident three years ago, but why remind him of her
freakishness? Thus, she was working very hard this year to
try and prevent it by keeping her stress under control.
"You kids have been with her so long, it'll be hard for
the big goodbye," Lulu continued, ignorant of Amber's racing
thoughts. Seemingly satisfied with whatever she saw during
her examination of Amber's hair, the stylist turned to study
her face. "You could use a facial."
While her expression was probably not the equivalent to
utter horror, Amber was pretty sure it came close. But Lulu
got her way. Before Amber could argue, she was lying back in
a padded chair with cold goop covering her face and a
ridiculous cap on her head to keep the other goop on her
hair contained. She imagined if Gabriel saw her now that he
would not only check her pulse, but would howl with laughter
that would make her want to punch him in the head.
In an effort to keep her stress contained, she closed her
eyes and allowed the hum of the machines and the senseless
chatter to calm her. When she slipped into sleep, she once
again had The Dream.
* * *
She opened her eyes, and he was there. The handsome male
with dark hair and intense gray eyes. The one who loved her.
Saraqael.
The unusual and seemingly powerful name floated through
her mind...though Amber knew it wasn't truly her mind
experiencing this encounter. This memory belonged to
another.
He reached out and took her hand where it rested on her
sickbed. "Did the doctors have any news?" he asked.
She shook her head. It took tremendous effort. The battle
against her rare genetic disease had been long and arduous,
and she was tired. So tired. But she made the effort of
bringing forth a smile for him. He had stood by her for more
than a year now, offering her support first through his
position as a deacon at the community church, and then as
her friend.
For a long moment, he didn't speak. He simply stared at
her. His emotion was obvious. Then he gently brought her
hand up. He brushed that hand with his lips before holding
it against his cheek. It was as though he knew she would
have caressed that cheek if she had only possessed the
strength to do so. The tender action had tears flooding her
vision.
"I love you more than it should be possible to love
another," he said, his voice hoarse now as he battled his
grief. "You know that, right?"
She nodded and communicated with her eyes what she was
unable to speak.
"I know you feel the same, my dearest heart." He gave her
a brief smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "There are
many things that I wish I had told you before. But now,
because I believe it is possible the truths I hold could
save your life, I would tell you everything."
Her breathing quickened. Hope and fear of the unknown had
her blinking back more tears. She managed a nod. She had to
know.
So, holding her gaze, he spoke his first truth...
* * *
"Amber?"
Blinking as The Dream faded, Amber looked up and caught
Lulu's stare. The stylist was using a special puff to remove
the facial goop. Amber made a noise in her throat to
indicate she was awake.
But her heart drum–rolled in her chest as the last
words spoken in her sleep state echoed in her mind.
"I am not human."