Kristie Cook - Promise

"We need to get the glass out, while they're still close to the surface."

I gulped.

"You have to cut them out?" I looked at the lumps on my arms, imagining the cutting and digging. My head became light and woozy as the blood drained to my feet.

"You're turning green," he said, wrapping his arm around my waist. "You okay?"

"Um… no !" Sweat beads popped out on my forehead.

Mom came through the front door just then, quickly shutting and locking it behind her. She gave us a strange look as we just stood there in the hallway.

"Honey, are you okay?" she asked, concern quickly filling her eyes. "You're green."

I lifted my arms for her to see. I could tell she knew immediately what was wrong—her whole body seemed to sink in defeat.

"Can this night get any worse?" she muttered.

"Tristan says we have to cut them out?" I made it a question, really hoping she had a better idea.

She quickly regained her composure and started barking orders. "Tristan, get some old towels from the broom closet. I'll get my kit. You, Alexis, just sit and put your head between your legs. You really don't look so good."

Within a few minutes, my desk lamp was set up on the kitchen table, the bright light glinting off a scalpel, tweezers, a needle and syringe and a small glass bottle. Mom sat down on my right side, taking my hand to stretch my arm across a folded towel for padding.

"Uh…maybe Tristan should do it," I said apprehensively. "I mean, he did go to medical school and all."

Mom glanced up at Tristan, who still stood beside me.

"Yeah, there's been a lot that's come out already," he admitted. "But I think you'd better do this. Your hands are smaller."

He gave her a quick run-down of what I already knew as he sat in the chair to my left and took my free hand into his.

"Don't worry, Alexis, I know what I'm doing, too," Mom said. She slid the needle into the rubber top of the bottle and filled the syringe with a clear liquid. "I used to be a nurse, after all."

"Seriously?" I asked. "I never knew that."

"Actually, that's how I first met Tristan. During the Second World War—"

" The Second World War ?" I flinched more from surprise at what she said than from the needle she just stuck into my arm. "That was, what, the nineteen-forties? But…you're only forty-three. You weren't even born yet!"

"Yes, well, that was easier for you to understand, when you did the math. But I'm actually…a-hundred-and-sixteen."

" What? " I stared at her in shock and a hysteric laugh burst out. They're both so old! "But… how ? Will I be like that, too?"

"I can't answer the first one and yes to the second." She stood up and poured us all a cup of coffee as I tried to absorb that, but I couldn't. I'm going to live that long…or longer ? I looked at Tristan and he squeezed my hand.

"Think your mom's a vampire, too? Or you, for that matter?" he asked with a small smile.

"Vampires? Ha! If it was so simple," Mom said, bringing our coffee cups over to the table. She sat back down and we sipped our coffee for a few moments, waiting for the anesthetic to take effect. She pressed her fingers in several places along my forearm.

"Can you feel that?"

"No." I really didn't know if it was from the anesthetic or if I numbed all over from renewed shock.

She picked up the scalpel and I must have turned green again.

"You probably shouldn't watch," she said.

I lay my head against the table, looking away, toward Tristan. He brushed my hair back and stroked my cheek. I felt pressure on my arm, but no pain. I concentrated on Tristan's face, trying hard not to visualize what I felt.

"So…to start at the beginning," Mom said as she worked, "we—me, you, our family—are a part of the Amadis . The best I can explain it for now is the Amadis is like a society or culture. Our family is the original Amadis, but others have joined us."

"Like a cult?" I asked, looking up in surprise.

Mom shook her head. "No, not a cult. It's the society or civilization for…people like us."

"There are other people like us ?"

"Not exactly like us…but they're not like normal people either. That's all I can say for now." She picked up the tweezers, about to poke them into the hole in my arm. I lay my head back down.

"So our family started this uh-MOD-eez"—I sounded out the foreign word—"but others have joined it?"

"Right. Others who are sort of like us and want to live like us—for good, not evil. So, the Amadis, our family, and Tristan's…"

She hesitated, like she didn't know what to call Tristan's relatives.

"Creators," he filled in for her, his voice hard. "I'm telling everything about me, so let's just get it out there. I was technically born, but those were not anything I would call parents. It's more accurate to say I was created. Genetically designed…to be the ultimate warrior."

Genetically designed? The ultimate warrior? I wanted to laugh—it sounded ludicrous—but Tristan's face was completely serious.

"The ultimate warrior for the Daemoni ," Mom said, disgust filling that last word, and I knew this was no joke. "The Amadis and the Daemoni are, well, we'll just say innate enemies. You'll have to wait for the story behind it, but you can understand I mean much more than rivals or feuding families. Our very kinds are, by nature, opposites."

"Our kinds ? What does that mean?"

The tugging sensation in my arm stopped as Mom sighed in frustration. "Honey, you just have to accept some things as just the way they are without further explanation. Yes, our kinds , as in our kinds of species."

My head shot up again. " Species ? We're not even human ?! What the hell are we, aliens?"

To my complete bewilderment, both Mom and Tristan chuckled.

"We're human…sort of…," Mom said, "…just different than everyone else, which you already knew. And that's all I can say. Besides, you're still very much human and you will be for a long time."

Of course. The Ang'dora. So the Ang'dora would make me less human…and more like Mom. She didn't seem like a different species, though.

"Mom, you can't say things like that and not explain."

She studied my face for a moment. "I'm sorry. I know it's not fair, but I'm not allowed to go into it. This is about Tristan, not us. I can only tell you what you need to know to understand him."

"But you're saying he's a different kind than us! How am I supposed to understand?"

"I'm not, really, a different kind, I mean," Tristan said. "Just be patient. You'll understand soon."

My eyes bounced between the two of them. Tristan looked apologetic—like he understood my frustration and wanted to tell me more. But Mom's face was set firmly. She wouldn't budge.

"Okay, fine," I sighed. "So our family—"

"My side of your family," Mom corrected. Of course, there's another side. I tended to forget that. The sperm-donor, as I referred to him when I had to, had never been a part of my life and Mom never spoke of him. Now there seemed to be a reason why she made that distinction…but she quickly jumped on my thought. "No, I can't tell you about the other side right now."

She bent her head over my arm again, squirting it with water to flush out the blood. Then she picked up the tweezers.

"Right. Of course not," I mumbled, laying my head back down. I didn't mind avoiding that topic as much as the others. "So, the Amadis…if we are natural enemies of the…?"

I couldn't remember the word.

"Daemoni," Mom filled in.

"Right. Day-MAH-nee. And the Daemoni created Tristan, then he is…?"

Tristan's face darkened and his eyes dropped from mine.

"Basically…designed to kill your kind," he said grimly, wincing at his own words, as if they physically hurt him. "Their main purpose in creating me was to lead them into victory over the Amadis…and, eventually, humankind. The instinctual desire to seek your kind out and kill without hesitation was bred into me."