True Intentions (21 page)

"I don't know, maybe bright pink or a lime green," I say. My voice sounds more like I'm asking a question instead of making a statement.

"Oh, lime green would look best." My mom has always been more than delighted to express her opinion. Her enthusiasm makes me laugh.

"I think you're right. Thanks." I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and head upstairs to finish unpacking my bedroom. I hate lying to her. But I haven't told her about Sam yet. How can I explain I'm leaving to meet my boyfriend's parents when, as far as she knows, I don't even have a boyfriend?

I survey my new room, struggling on where to begin. I love having drywall in my bedroom, rather than the log cabin look at Grandma's.

Don't get me wrong, I've always adored log cabins. They have a certain coziness no house with drywall can compare to. The downfall is decorating. Hang a few pictures on the wood walls, and the entire room looks funny. And I really like wall art. That is why I'm so excited to have drywall. I can finally have some artwork around my room.

I walk into my bedroom and glance around. Where to begin? Our Victorian house has such large rooms; my bedroom furniture looks tiny in comparison. I stare at the numerous boxes in front of me. I decide to open some of the smaller boxes I never unpacked when we were staying with my grandparents. I have to laugh as I dig through the first box. Inside are old, porcelain dolls and one old soccer trophy. I was on a team when I was five. I don't remember playing in any of the games or ever coming close to scoring a goal—another example of my less than awesome athletic ability. I gasp in shock.

Behind the trophy is a picture of Aiden and me in a beaded glass, multicolored frame. It was taken on our sixteenth birthday at Navy Pier in Chicago. We were sitting in the sand; Lake Michigan was in the background. How can I have some "gift," as Sam insists, and yet be unable to save my father and brother? How could
my
God—the one who I believed in, and whose commandments I tried to follow, take my family from me?

It's hard to not feel antagonistic. In order to stay positive, I turn my thoughts to Sam. If Aiden had not died, I would never have moved to Lake Arrowhead. Sam wouldn't have come into my life.

Would I trade having Sam to get Aiden back?

Would I have ever considered trading my soul to the devil for Aiden's life like Sam did for Virginia?

Sam's self-sacrifice was for the noblest cause I can think of: to give up your soul so someone you love dearly can live on . . .
what a concept.

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Kathryn

I sit in the driver's seat of my Jeep, anxiously waiting at the end of my driveway.

I keep my eyes peeled and look around at the nearby woods. Before my experience with Walter, I wasn't nearly as apprehensive as I am now.

Apparently a near-death experience can do that to a person.

A light knocking on the Jeep's passenger side window causes me to jump in shock.

Sam peers through the glass, smiling.

Where is his car?

I look around once more, sure I've missed him pull up in his vehicle. There is no car in sight.

I reach over and unlock the door. Sam climbs in and then looks me up and down.

"What?" I ask.

He has a sheepish grin on his face. He is wearing jeans, his leather flip-flops, and a white button-up. He looks stunning as always. His bright, teal eyes stand out in contrast to his white shirt.

Those darn eyes . . . . Do they always have to memorize me?

"I like your dress."

"Thanks," I say. The words come out rougher than I was hoping. I don't feel pretty. I'm wearing a yellow sundress and a jean jacket with a multicolored scarf and flip-flops.

He leans over the center console and smells my hair.

I shoot him a goofy look.

"You smell good too."

"So tell me about your family." I say, changing the subject without being subtle.

He frowns and lets out a sigh. I think he would have rather discussed the scent of my hair.

"Let me drive, and we'll talk."

That request sounds reasonable enough.

I climb out of the driver seat and walk over to the passenger side.

"Where's your car?" I ask, looking around one last time.

"I didn't bring it."

I stay silent. I consider asking, but then change my mind. I don't want to know.

"What do you want to know about my family?" he asks, interrupting my internal thoughts.

I'm still pondering how he got to my house without a car. It's not like there are buses or taxis around here.

After a moment I ask, "How did they become like you, owing their souls to Satan?"

He looks out the windshield, his eyes narrowing. Then he turns the ignition and pulls out of my driveway as he explains.

"Well, Kate's actual name is Kathryn, but she has gone by Kate for the last fifty years. She thinks the nickname Kate is more hip than Kathryn. She doesn't really talk about why she gave her soul to Satan very much . . . . None of us do. I do know she's close to five hundred years old. She was born around the time Leonardo DaVinci completed the Mona Lisa, if that tells you anything. She lived somewhere in Europe, and, from what she's told me about the world back then, it was a time where life was hell unless you were wealthy. Men dominated the world. It was a much different time than living here today. Like . . . believe it or not, people actually took baths once or twice a year. Do you know those rare bathing habits actually caused the idea of using wedding bouquets? The flowers would help hide the bride's body odor. Kate wasn't one of the wealthy. She was fairly young—around eighteen. She was married and had one infant."

He frowns as he continues. "She ended up losing her only child to disease. Then she found out her husband was well-known in their village for fornicating with all the young girls. One night she found him in bed with a girl no older than eleven or twelve.

He actually beat Kate for interrupting them. She snapped and made a deal with Lucifer.

If her husband suffered, and she became powerful and wealthy, she would be Lucifer's slave. I guess back then Kate already felt she was a slave to her adulterous husband, so how bad could Lucifer be? Her wish was granted."

"She died?" I ask.

Sam looks over at me as if I missed something. "No. Let me explain. Lucifer wants humans to sin. He wants to own their soul. You don't have to be on your death bed to cut a deal. Think of him as a genie. You make a wish and give your soul as payment. That's exactly what Kate did. She wanted to be rich and make her husband suffer, and that's exactly what she got. Her husband died a young, horrible death from syphilis, and Kate became a house maid for a wealthy, royal family. One young prince immediately fell in love with her, and they were married. She was overly ecstatic with her new life. On her wedding night she became pregnant. Then two months later, she miscarried and got a secondary infection which took her life. Lucifer had given her the life of her dreams, for that short time period anyway—a total of a few months, and then she had to give him her soul for eternity. Once Lucifer owns your soul, you go through a transformation when you die and then end up like this," he says, pausing to grab the underside of his forearm. He frowns. "Not quite fair is it?"

I shake my head, unsure of what to say after that story. Kate seems like a normal girl living a life she hated. She wanted better for herself. Satan offered her that, gave her a moment of happiness, then ended it when she was finally living her dream.
Not quite
fair
is an understatement.

I'm appalled at how Lucifer works.

Had I honestly expected him to be different?

Hearing about Kate is intriguing to me. I want to learn even more about the rest of his family.

I start my line of questioning.

"What about your parents? What's their story? You mentioned before, they were around nine hundred years old."

"Yup, that's correct. Again, we don't really discuss our human lives or how we sold out to Lucifer very much, but here is what I know." Sam is talking faster than normal, and I'm trying to keep up with these amazing lives of his family.

"My understanding is the early 1100s was the reign of Henry I, and seemed to have been a peaceful era. In 1131, Henry I died, and England was thrown into turmoil.

Henry had named his daughter Matilda as his heir because his only son died some years earlier. His nephew Stephen, who happens to be my adoptive father, refused to accept Matilda as queen and put himself forward as King of England. For the next twenty-four years, Stephen and Matilda fought continuously. Stephen finally found a way to take over from Matilda, with Lucifer's assistance of course. Susan's change happened differently, but it is really remarkable how both of them are connected."

I stare in awe.

"It began with the Battle of Tinchebray, in Normandy after the death of William II, the King of England. William had two sons, Henry I and Robert II. After his death, Henry I, who was Matilda's dad, seized the throne, but was opposed by his brother, Robert II. In case you haven't made the connection; Robert II was Stephen's father.

Henry I defeated Robert II at Tinchebray and sent him to jail in chains. Robert spent the rest of his life in prison. Robert II's daughter, Susan—my adoptive mom—was furious that her father was imprisoned by her uncle. She made a deal with Lucifer and her uncle, Henry I, died in 1131, and that started the whole war between Matilda and Stephen. Are you still following all of this?"

My mouth is almost scrapping the floor of the Jeep at this point.

"So, what you're telling me is Stephen and Susan
are
actually brother and sister?"

I ask as clarification. I'm completely baffled at the whole connection.

"Correct."

"I can honestly say . . . I am speechless. This is crazy."

"Not really, we all have our own story. Some of our stories just intertwine more than others," Sam says.

He does have a point. But still, it's pretty unbelievable.

We pull up to his home, the marvellous house he first brought me to the night I was attacked by Walter. The day I found out the truth about him. Looking back, it was one of the worst, and best, days of my life.

Instead of going inside, he opens my door and leads me out to their barn. I walk down the dirt trail alongside him, and, for once in my life, I keep my thoughts to myself. I have a strong desire to reach out and grab his hand as we walk, but I'm too chicken to take the initiative. I pause in my tracks when I see a girl up ahead. Sam stops too, but just to look back at me—his curiosity is getting the best of him. A young girl, possibly twenty, stands in the barn brushing one of the stunning horses I saw the first time I came here. Her hair is deep black, long, and straight. She has gorgeous, ivory, translucent skin. It looks like skin made from porcelain, similar to Sam's. Kate's immaculate beauty gives me the impression she could have been an angel from Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel. Who knows, at this point it wouldn't surprise me if I found out Kate was his inspiration.

She looks at us, her expression guarded. As we approach her, I can't help but wonder what she's thinking—especially about me.

She waves her hand out in the air.

"Hi. You must be Ava. Sam has told us all about you." Her voice is calm and polite, but without an ounce of friendliness.

"Hi."

She stares at Sam as she continues. "Stephan and Susan left a little while ago.

They didn't think it would be wise for them to meet Ava right now. They think we are being watched."

Sam nods—his face stone-cold. He doesn't even crack a smile when he motions for me to follow him. Before I have a second to respond, he's already turning around and heading back up the path. I rush to his side, struggling to keep up. Disappointment floods my face, and I'm grateful he has his back to me. It looks like I won't be able to meet his adoptive parents after all.

I follow him, frowning.

When we get a few feet from the car, I decide to say something—
anything—
to break the silence.

"That was awkward. I don't think she likes me."

He slows down, turning completely around to face me.

"Ava, think about this for one moment. Your brother is in love with the girl of his wildest dreams. He is on the run, in danger of dying, and has thrown his entire life
as he
knew it
out the window. Would you feel real comfortable with his decision? Would you? She doesn't have anything personally against you. She just worries about me and my choice."

Although I'm not thrilled to be referred to as a choice, I can see he's in a lot of pain.

I consider reminding him of how my family would react if they knew I was in love with Satan's soldier,
who is here on this earth to damn us
. But as I look at his grimacing face, I recognize there is nothing to gain by making that comment. There's no one in either of our lives who will understand how much we are willing to give up because of how we feel about each other.

We continue up the path from the barn to the house, when I abruptly stop in my tracks and speak up, making an
out of the ordinary
request.

"Can I have a few minutes alone with Kate?" I beg, my voice cracking from nerves. I push the dirt with my shoe.

"Why?"

"Because I want to talk to her, like
girl to girl
."

"About?"

"If I wanted you to know, I would have talked to her in front of you." I don't want to sound bitchy. But I don't want to explain myself either.

He stands in front of me without saying yes or no, so I assume it's a yes and quickly head toward the barn. I refuse to look back.

Kate is still combing the same, striking mare. She turns her head slightly, and acknowledges me with her eyes, but she continues without the slightest pause.

I feel my knees shake.

Why am I doing this?

"Can I say something?" I ask, unsure of what I would do if she said no.

She stops and turns around so we are standing face to face. I see we are close to the same height—around five-foot-six.