The Medallion
The loud music from Vic’s apartment continued on into the early morning. It’s not surprising when at 2:00 a.m. the police came to break up the festivities. What is surprising is that no one got in trouble for the illegal activities that had been taking place! Apparently, Vic knows the officer who was dispatched to his home, and he let everything slide with a blind eye. When the police arrived, Jake took the cue, and we left, dragging Summer in her inebriated condition to her Range Rover. I helped him lay her down in the backseat, and he admonished her not to puke, reminding her that her father will kill her if there was vomit in the car.
He drove Summer home first, walked her to the front stoop of her brownstone, helped her as she fumbled for her house keys, and kissed her goodnight on her cheek. I heard him tell her that he would drop her car off tomorrow morning, and she responded with an incoherent mumble. She tripped trying to shut the door, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Next stop,” he says when he gets back into the driver’s seat, “Aestra’s house.”
“She okay?” I ask, thumbing my finger toward Summer’s house.
“Ah, she will be. She won’t feel too good tomorrow morning, probably won’t remember much about tonight, but she’ll be back to her normal, cheery self bright and early Monday morning. It’s Summer’s pattern. She’s a party girl, and she parties hard.”
That’s a good thing, as I pray she won’t remember seeing Malek and me in our compromising position. “Sounds like you know Summer all too well.”
A light drizzle coats the surface of the windshield, and Jake flicks the wiper handle up. “Yeah. I’ve known Summer since kindergarten. Vic, too. We all grew up together.”
“Oh,” I say, and that feeling of not being able to compete starts to creep up on me. They’re practically a family. They’re joined by time and common experiences like Revalia and me. There’s no way I’ll be able to break through those bonds. I cross my right leg over my left and place my arms in my lap. Against my right elbow, the bulge of Malek’s brown pouch presses against my tight jeans. Consider this an opportunity, an … advantage. “So,” I continue, “have you and Summer always…”
He shakes his head quickly. “No, no! It’s always been an on-and-off thing with us. For years, we’ve gone back and forth, but it wasn’t until the beginning of this senior year that we’ve been pretty steady.”
A stabbing sensation grips my chest again, and I look down. “Oh,” I say.
“But, ya know, it’s weird though. She’s got her head in a different place… if that makes any sense. She’s a good person and all, but she has different, um, goals than I do, I guess.”
“I understand. She has the party-girl mentality.”
“Exactly. I’m kinda beyond all that, ya know?”
“And Europe?”
“Of course, that was all Summer’s idea. She’s been plotting and planning since the seventh grade to do this back-packing trip after senior year. It was a great idea when we were kids and all, but…”
“NYU,” I interrupt.
The rain comes down a little harder; I can no longer count the droplets that ping against the car roof. He puts the windshield wipers on an intermediate setting. “Right. When I got the scholarship, it put a damper on my European dreams. I don’t think they’ll hold it for a year.”
The rain haze makes the street lamps look like mechanical angels with a pulsating electric aura; they remind me of the task at hand. “Can’t Europe wait?” I ask.
“Not for Summer,” he says abruptly. “When she has her mind set on something, there’s no stopping her or telling her no!”
We’re getting closer to my house, and I am defeated. This isn’t getting anywhere. I’m failing by the second, and then my arm brushes up against my leg, and I touch the bump beneath. Even if I did use the amulet, what would I do with it? And why would shielding my actions from Camael be at all beneficial to me?
“Ya know, Jake, I guess the bottom line really is this: What do you want to do?”
He stops at a red light, takes his hands off the wheel, and runs his fingers through his short hair. “There’s a part of me that is all about going to Europe with them. I want to travel, and see the world, and write poetry in Dutch coffee houses. Then the other part of me really wants to settle down, go to school, get my degree, and start a career. Maybe get into journalism, or writing of some type, teaching maybe.”
The light turns green, and he goes about half a block before we’re in front of my house. He pulls over at the curb and parks the car. The car is still running, and I take it as my sign to get out. I turn to open the door, but the rain pounds down even heavier, and he stops me. “Wait,” he says.
“My house is right there; I’m not gonna melt!” I smile.
He turns the ignition off. “Just wait ’til it lets up a little, okay?” he insists.
I shrug my shoulders and turn back around, “Okay.”
“What do you think?” he asks. “What do you think I should do?”
I fidget. I can’t outright come out and tell him what to do because it doesn’t work like that, but since he’s asked… “I don’t know, I mean, I’m not in your situation.”
He rolls his eyes. Apparently, that wasn’t a good answer for him. “You know what I mean,” he huffs. “Let’s say you were.”
“Honestly? All I know is that NYU is a pretty penny, and I would have killed to get a free ride. Europe’s been around for a very long time, and I don’t think it’s gonna go anywhere in four years.”
He laughs, “That’s exactly what I was thinking. You’re lucky that you have a solid plan, ya know. You know what you want out of life, and you’re determined to get it. You’re talented and goal-orientated, and that’s admirable. “
“Thanks,” I say as I let out a small laugh.
An uncomfortable silence creeps in between us. I concentrate on the rain hitting the car in a rhythmic way; it’s like a song longing to have words written for it. Jake is staring at me, and I fidget again by cracking my fingers. The sound is almost deafening against the stillness in the car.
“It would break Summer’s heart if you didn’t go, wouldn’t it?” I say, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” he says, “but at what cost? And I’m not sure if that even matters anymore.” He’s still staring at me, his eyes blazing right through me like they did the first moment I located him at school, the first time I saw him from The Observatory. He’s looking through my heart and through my soul. I try to crack my knuckles again, but I’m all out of cracks! No matter how hard I bend my fingers back, there’s nothing left to pop. My fingers start to get sweaty from my tight grip. He shifts in his seat, facing me now. The jagged light from the street lamp distorts his face with shadows of raindrops. I am enamored with the beauty of his face, the gentleness of his smile, and the soul burning behind his eyes.
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Summer’s a nice girl… a great girl, don’t get me wrong. But I know she’s not for me. We have a good time together, have a lot of memories together, but I don’t see it going anywhere beyond that, ya know… like in the future.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “People come in and out of our lives, and…” I pause because I don’t really know what I’m saying, and to be quite honest, I don’t think he’s even listening to me.
“Who’s your favorite poet?” he asks.
“What?”
“Answer the question. Who’s your favorite poet?”
A no-brainer question, I don’t even have to think about this one. “Poe.”
“Of course, it would be.”
“What are you talking about, I don’t understand the…”
“The fact that you even know who Poe is…”
“You can’t be serious…”
“Summer had no clue who Poe was, and when I explained it to her she said, ‘Oh, that bird guy!’ So, just for the record, Poe is the Bird Guy.”
This makes me laugh as I uncross my legs and turn to face him directly. “What about you? Who’s your favorite poet?”
“The Bird Guy,” he responds without missing a beat.
“Figures as much,” I say with a smile. Because it would. It figures that there’s one more thing driving us together, one more thing connecting our common bonds. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll go to NYU, and we’ll take a class on Poe together,” I joke.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” he says, and the car gets awfully quiet again.
I look down and listen to the rain. It’s not letting up, not anytime soon, that’s for sure. “I should get going.”
“Stay a few more minutes,” he says, touching my knees.
I hesitate but nod my head. “All right.” There’s a strange tension building between us. The pit of my stomach feels like it’s on a rollercoaster ride, and my heartbeat is a little faster than usual.
“Where are you from?” he asks, moving his hand up my leg.
I pull back a little. His question takes me off guard because he already knows I’m from California, and I certainly can’t ever say the word Ilarium ’cause it would make him think I was some kind of nut-job. I raise my eyebrows in response to both his question and his slowly moving hand. “You know where I’m from.”
“But, I know you,” he says. “I don’t know from where, or how, but I know you.” I close my eyes and shake my head.
“That’s impossible,” I mumble.
“I feel like there’s something about you that’s so strange.”
“Oh, gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“No… I don’t mean you’re strange, well…” And his voice trails as he smiles at me again.
“Shut up!” I snap back.
He laughs as he presses his fingers against my right thigh, against the brown leather pouch within my pocket. “What’s that?” he asks, smoothing his hand over the bump.
I freeze for a second, my mind scrambling for an excuse, an alibi, a story about the mysterious bag. “Oh, just my necklace,” I say, lying so easily. “I didn’t know if I should wear it or not tonight, and I…”
“Kept it in your pocket all night? You don’t think that’s strange?” he teases.
“It’s a girl thing, you wouldn’t understand… or maybe you do…” I tease back.
He playfully pinches my thigh, and I flinch.
Without realizing that I’m even doing it, I reach into my pocket and take the necklace from the pouch, careful not to touch the medallion. I dangle the silver amulet between us; it catches glints of the artificial streetlight in a prismatic fashion. He is entranced with it; I am too. “It’s different. Why don’t you wear it?” he says, his eyes trained on the diamond-shaped pendant. And as if being guided by unseen hands, I dip my head into the loop of the chain, the medal bounces once off the center of my chest before nestling between my breasts.
Its power is strong—it envelopes me like a heavy blanket. I’m paralyzed, yet weightless at the same time. The energy surges through every part of me, putting every hair on my body at attention. There are sounds in my ears that both frighten and thrill me at the same time. Malek’s voice, Malek’s true demon voice, is whispering to me. He speaks in tongues, in riddles, in languages only my angelic nature would be able to translate. But it soothes me, calms my senses, tickles my brain, and shoots throbbing sensations down my spine and…
“See,” Jake says. I snap back into the present, wondering how long my attention had drifted away. “It’s very pretty. Where did you get it?”
Where did I get it? What do I say? I’m so lost in the essence of Malek’s power that I am fuzzy and light-headed like a drunken Summer.
“Family heirloom,” a voice whispers in my head. Malek’s human voice.
“It’s a family heirloom,” I say.
“On your father’s side,” the voice whispers again.
“It came from my father’s side of the family,” I repeat.
Jake slides closer to me. He gives me an empathetic look, the kind that only he can give me; the kind that says he knows my pain, he knows my loss, he knows that any gift from either of our parents is to be cherished and celebrated until we die. His sweet, golden brown eyes are filled with such understanding. It’s hard to resist being drawn into them.
“A beautiful gift for a beautiful girl,” he says, and he leans into me.
The moment his lips touch mine, the energy from the necklace engulfs him as well, and I am completely swept away in the warm blanket of energy, Malek’s gentle whispers in my head, the kiss, and the rain thrashing against the car.