***

CHAPTER 6

Amber Marigold

***

There was something seriously wrong with Amber. Her cousin asked one thing of her. One thing. All she had to do was lay low. So, how the hell did it come to her slapping not one but two cyngs mere hours after her cousin's desperate request?

"Amber!"

She looked up and Jessy was at the Ford, storming over from across the parking lot. Bracing for impact, she winced. Any moment and she would get the scolding of a lifetime—

"You're safe!" Jessy cried, hugging her.

"Huh?" Amber blinked.

"I thought you were dead!" she sobbed into her hair.

Unsure what to do with her arms, Amber returned the hug. Her face fell. The hot sting along her back, the overwhelming throb in her head, and the tender swell of her neck... It had nothing to the ache in the girl's heart.

"I'm sorry," she said into her shoulder. "I'm the worst."

Jessy held on tighter.

"No," she sniffled. "I heard what happened in English. Mister Dietrich gave me your bag and told me Blake came in and dragged you out. There was nothing you could do."

Amber bit the inside of her cheek.

"I think I might've screwed up," she said, her nose stinging and eyes blinking. "I did something really bad."

"It's okay, it's okay," Jessy soothed, pulling back and keeping Amber at arm's length. "You're still alive, and that's all that matters. Come, you can tell me all about it in the car."

This understanding side of her cousin was much harder to deal with than the panicked one. She dragged her feet as she got in the Ford and buckled in. On the road, Jessy gripped the steering wheel with shaky fingers, her nails chewed and chipped.

"Okay, how bad is it?" she asked. "Just tell me what happened."

Holding nothing back, Amber told her cousin everything. Though Jessy definitely had a heart attack or two, she was much more reasonable than expected.

"Well," she sighed, "the worst offence you committed was not bringing a milkshake back for me."

A sly grin crept up on Amber, but her eyes stayed still.

"Slapping two cyngs isn't bad?" she asked.

"Oh no, slapping two cyngs is probably the worst idea you've ever had," Jessy said. "And that's saying something since you're the one who came up with pancake nunchucks."

Amber chuckled, and Jessy had a soft smile.

"But slapping Blake and Owen was deserved," she added.

"Actually, I was sure you were going to skin me alive for putting your parents in danger," Amber said. "I've been nothing but trouble since coming here. Perhaps even before that..."

Jessy kept her eyes on the road, her shoulder sagging.

"You know, Amber, my parents aren't the only people I'm worried about," she said. "Your safety means just as much to me. You're my family too. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

Amber's head tilted to the window. She watched that imaginary version of herself run along outside.

"I don't deserve you," she said, wondering if she deserved anything at all.

The girls got home, and fortunately, Aunt Tessa was still at the police station, working on some big case. It only left Uncle Anton to get past. Amber zipped her jacket all the way up to hide her neck. Her uncle was eating a plain slice of bread by the kitchen island, looking up as they entered.

"Good day, young ones," he greeted. "Did either of you learn something useful today?"

Jessy grabbed an apple and said, "Good day, Father figure. I learned that scientists are developing an immunotherapy based on blood cells from­—"

"I said something useful," Uncle Anton sighed, rolling his eyes. He turned to Amber. "And you, Kiddo?"

"Uh." Amber was suddenly conscious of her own blinking. "Shaking milk automatically makes a milkshake?"

"That's genius, Amber! Genius!" Uncle Anton said, genuine wonder shimmering in his eyes. "What a revolutionary idea!"

Jessy opened her mouth but stopped and sighed instead. Trying to talk sense to Uncle Anton was useless.

"Now, Daughter figure, you have to help me with the clothing Jacuzzi," he said. "Your mother has threatened to take away my figurine collection if I don't get the washing done."

Amber took that as her cue to leave, sending her cousin a sign of good luck before she headed down to the basement. Paints and brushes littered the floor while finished and unfinished paintings were stacked against the walls. Not one piece had so much as a speck of red paint. She strolled over to the artwork she had been working on for the past week. It started as a plain field of sunflowers, but she had since added a gold embroidered bed to the middle of the field. It gave a unique randomness. Mostly.

She picked up a paintbrush and worked on the details of the bed, adding purple to the darker shadows and a light blue for the creases on the blanket. It was blasphemy to use black paint, but she used it to give a slight layer of depth to the shadow under the bed. That spot where...

Amber, I love you, but you have to hide!

What am I supposed to do now? Amber thought. Because she hid like a coward... Right in front of her eyes, her worst nightmare came true. She had since sworn to never be helpless again. How did she land herself in a situation where being a coward was what would keep everyone safe? She wondered what her parents would do in a town like Tygerwel. Did good people only hide away here?

Was she good?

A buzz from Amber's phone pulled her out of the direction her mind slowly sank towards. The bed was painted pitch-black. Unlocking her phone, she checked the most recent message.

Unknown
Hello again, Marigold.
16:04

Amber cursed out loud and aggressively texted back.

Amber
Who is this!?!? And no, I dont have a favourite scary movie
16:05

The next text came instantly.

Unknown
I hear it has been a rough day for you.
16:05

Who the hell was this person? Amber did not rule out the possibility that it could be Blake or Owen, but she had received texts even before she met those idiots. It could not be Jessy, and her uncle could barely make a call, let alone pull off some prank. Her aunt was also too busy for something like this. Someone from her Dad's side? No way. They were too stuck up. From the girl's experience with mystery shows, it had to be the person she least suspected.

Amber thought about that one for a minute.

The president of Egypt. She did not know if Egypt even had a president, but he was definitely the last person she suspected.

Amber
Are you perhaps... from Egypt?
16:07

Unknown
The docks. Tuesday, 25th of March @ 23:00.
16:08

Well, Amber thought. They did not deny it.

Amber
Are you by any chance... a president?
16:09

Unknown
Don't get caught ;)
16:09

Amber
Wait wait whats this about the docks? Thats tomorrow?
16:10

Amber
Are you planning to murder me?
16:10

This time, they did not respond, and the number of questions the girl had made her dizzy.

Amber
Hello????????
16:15

More frustrated than ever, she saved the number as 'Mr President' and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Did this mean the unknown number wanted to meet her at the docks? Blake took her there that morning, so there was a good chance it could have been him. Actually, it would have been a perfect conclusion if she had not received texts from before she met the cyng of the West.

Amber now had to decide if she would do as the creepy, potentially serial killer, Mr President asked. It was one of the oldest horror tropes, and the girl had enough sense to know it was a bad idea. Getting-her-throat-sliced-open kind of bad idea. Set on conquering her self-destructive curiosity, she left the matter there.

For the rest of the day, Amber tried to fix the mistake she had made with the painting. By dinner time, she was dragged out of the basement and once again threatened to sleep in her own bed. With the lights off, the girl tossed and turned in her sheets. She cursed at herself after an hour.

Grabbing her phone, she sent the unknown number what she decided would be her last message.

Amber
Im not going.
22:56

Set on the idea, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

"I'm not going," she repeated out loud as good measure.

She went. Twenty-four hours later, Amber was at the docks in the dead of night. She did not realise she was doing as the number asked until she was hunched behind a heap of crates like some creep. Her hiding spot smelled like fish, and her nose scrunched.

Amber was not a fish kinda' gal.

Save for the two eerie streetlights, this part of the docks was dark. The bay flanking Amber's right was a quiet ebony surface with lights from the distant harbour restaurants flickering across the water. The girl wore an all-black outfit with running shoes, tights, and a hoodie. Unfortunately, her favourite yellow and orange jacket was more suited to be a traffic cone than a reconnaissance outfit. She was lucky her aunt was busy with some secret police assignment at work, and her uncle had the night shift. Jessy was the only person to get past but was too focused on some essay for university to care about her 'late night jog'.

Now all Amber had to hope for was that she did not get murdered. It would be quite unfortunate if fish was the last thing she smelled.

With the rev of a sports car's engine approaching, Amber ducked back behind the crates and watched with hawk eyes. The car raced to the docks with skidding tyres as it spun to a stop. It was a silver Aston Martin with two green stripes spanning the length of the car. Not much later, a handful of other vehicles joined, including the six-door Land Rover she was in yesterday.

Wait, Amber thought. Does this mean Owen is Mister President?

She was about to get up from her hiding spot and confront the cyng of the East, but the sound of another distant engine made her stay put. The infamous matte black Alfa Romeo that Amber wished she could set alight swerved and parked on the other side of the docks. More cars came racing behind and joined the slick sports car.

The girl had no idea what was going on anymore. Who was the unknown number? Was it Owen or Blake? Perhaps them both?

Everyone got out of their cars and faced each other once again. Amber was starting to suspect that the only thing bloodlines did was stare at each other menacingly. She recognised Owen with his bronze-brown hair, broad shoulders and annoying green scarf she wanted to strangle him with. Even his friends looked more annoying in the eerie golden light. She already forgot their names, but the depressed one wore the same floor-length dark grey coat as the previous day, collar popped. The blond, who liked flapping his mouth, had a buttermilk-coloured trench coat that made him look like a 1920s mobster. And the twins' coats were both the same shade of light brown as their skin. There were other men backing Owen up as well, but none were familiar.

In contrast to the mobster-like fancy coats, the West got out of their cars in their usual getup of leather jackets, ripped pants and heavy boots. With his tanned skin and black hair, Amber immediately recognised Blake. He was number one on her list of people she would like to dunk in a trashcan. The same group as last week was with him. Save for the kid she had Visual Art Studies with, she knew none of them.

"So, you want to settle this, Bowmen?" Owen hollered as he walked to meet Blake in the middle of the two sides. They were punching distance from each other.

"Yes. I'm sick of seeing your busted-up face in town," Blake replied.

"If you hate it so much, you should go back home. Or what? Too many druggies like yourself over there?"

"Tch. Fucking pimp. I was raised here, and you know that. This is getting old."

"Then get to the point, Puppet Boy."

"I want this to end."

Owen raised a brow, taking a step back and laughing out loud.

"Yes, don't we all," he cackled. "So what? Another law-abiding duel? Last time I broke your arm."

"And you still haven't fixed your nose, I see," Blake grinned.

"You call me out here to reminisce, Bowmen? And here I thought the puppet cyng of the West would start thinking for himself."

"If you can stop flapping that trap of yours, you might hear a good idea for once, Rhodes," Blake said. "A duel that strays a bit from the seven laws. A bet, if you will."

Owen scoffed.

"Like, who can snort the most coke? Apologies, you win."

Blake's lip curled into a sly smirk.

"Something closer to your line of business, actually," he said.

Owen rolled his eyes, hands in his coat pockets.

"If you want to rent one of my ladies, Bowmen, I'm sorry to say, but we have a 'no trash policy' at our hotels."

"I'm not interested in fucking whores. Unlike you."

"I don't mix business with pleasure," Owen said. "Unlike you."

The cyngs glared at each other, damp pavement beneath them nearly steaming from pure fiery tension. Amber shifted her weight; her legs started to burn from all the crouching. She still had no idea what was happening, but considered the possibility of the unknown number wanting her to hear this. Why, she was unsure.

"But," Owen added, "I think I know where you're going with this. Might I make my own suggestion?"

Amber squinted her eyes like it would help her hear better.

Blake reached for something in his leather jacket, and the guys from the East tensed up, hands aimed for their coats as well. The dark-haired cyng of the West had an amused curve of his lips as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit a smoke.

"I'm listening," he said, taking a lungful.

The East loosened up.

"You remember that girl from last week?" Owen asked.

Blake did not even blink.

"What girl?"

What girl? WHAT GIRL? Amber's jaw set. How about the girl you kidnapped just yesterday? She nearly jumped up to start yelling at Blake, but fortunately, the wiser side of her prevailed. She stayed hidden behind the crates, enduring the stench of fish.

"You know," Owen said, "the one that interrupted our conversation at school. Blonde hair, dangerous mouth. Oh, and I heard she smacked you across the face," he added with a chuckle.

The girl tensed.

"You mean Amber?" Blake asked with a straight face, boot tapping ever so slightly.

"Yes, Amber," Owen answered.

"I heard she rejected you as well," Blake added. "Must have been a first for a pimp like yourself."

It was now Owen's turn to lose his smirk. His knuckles whitened, and he straightened his back before forcing a much tighter smile this time.

"Well, then it's quite fair," he said. "You got rejected; I got rejected. How about the bloodline that gets the girl, gets to stay?"

Amber's bones grew cold. She could already hear Jessy yelling: 'I told you to lay low. This is not low, Amber! This is jumping around with maracas and yelling at the world to come find you!'

She facepalmed herself. How could she get out of this?

"You got the right idea, but I was thinking of something more interesting than staying or leaving," Blake said. "Let's raise the stakes. The loser has to pledge their bloodline to the winner."

With those words, it was possible to hear a pin drop amongst the crowd. All eyes were fixed on the cyngs. Owen slowly nodded.

"Not that I particularly care for taking in Western rats, but sure," he said. "I don't think the East would mind expanding. Sounds like an exciting deal. Are you sure you can make such an important offer? Shouldn't the puppet cyng ask his strings if it's alright?"

"The West is about to double in size. I don't think anyone would mind," Blake replied. "I'm quite confident betting on Golden Girl."

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Amber had to stop this. She needed to stop the bet but had no idea how to do so without exposing herself. Was this why Mr President told her not to get caught? Did the unknown number want her to hear about this? The girl was unsure if she was being helped or set up.

"But," Owen added, "she has to say 'I love you'. Getting her in bed would simply be too easy for me."

Amber's fingers itched to choke that smug crooked-nosed bastard. She could not believe they were betting on her like she was some sort of game. Like she would consider even one of them.

"Fair enough," Blake said, stepping on his cigarette.

"It's a deal then," Owen confirmed.

Amber sat seething as the cyngs both pulled out pocket knives, silver glinting in the golden light. They made a small cut across their palms. Owen his left, and Blake his right. Straightening their arms out to their sides, they let a single drop of red plummet to the floor.

"A promise made in blood," Blake said.

"Can't go worming your way out of this one," Owen added.

Great, Amber thought. Now she was officially fucked. She continued to curse her horrible luck as the group finished up. Before much time could pass, however, a quiet feeling drifted in. She looked up, nothing particularly warranting her dread, until—

Sirens.

At the sound of wailing police sirens and the sudden flash of blue and red lights, nearly everyone at the docks pulled out a gun. Amber fell back in shock, landing on her ass. She scrambled back to her feet to peek over the crates again. What was happening? The police raced to the docks while everyone else ran back to their vehicles. Men shouted. Car doors slammed. Engines roared.

"This is a search. Do not resist," a speaker called.

Amber knew that voice.

A black police vehicle with a single blue light came sliding to a stop at the docks, the door swinging open. Aunt Tessa jumped out and held a gun pointed at Blake as he was about to get into his car.

"Halt!" she called.

Amber opened her mouth to cry a warning, but a loud shot rang.

Rang through the night. No. Rang in her ear. No. Her Aunt... No!

The sound was so familiar, so painfully familiar, Amber was under that bed again. And like a year ago, she could do nothing but tense up in frozen shock. Her aunt fell to the floor, a growing stain on her white blouse. That bright red woke the girl up.

"Aunt Tessa!" Amber screamed, her voice tearing.

She was just as useless as a year ago. Pathetic. Helpless. No! She had made herself a promise. Back in control, Amber bolted from her hiding spot. When she rounded the crates, most of West and East had already gotten away. She did not see who shot her aunt, but she wanted them caught. Dead. And with the police here, she might get her wish. This time, justice could...

Only one siren remained.

Police cars that mere seconds before were racing to the scene suddenly turned off their lights. One of the cars honked, and the rest slowly reversed away. As quickly as they came, the police left. Not a single thug was arrested.

What just...

Amber rushed to Aunt Tessa, removing her hoodie as she ran. Her aunt was on the floor, growing paler by the second.

"Tessa!" Amber cried, crashing to her knees.

"Amber?" Aunt Tessa asked, eyes unfocused. "What are you..."

"I happened to hear the sirens nearby," she lied. "Here, hold on to my shoulder. I'll tie my hoodie around your waist."

"Did we catch them? Where is everyone?"

Amber set her jaw, her brows snapping together.

"They left. They left you," the girl hissed. "Why did they do that? You're clearly in trouble! I don't understand."

Aunt Tessa did not look surprised. Instead, she let go of a strained sigh, her body losing its strength.

"It was a gamble from the start," she said. "The police are on the payroll of these people. I was sent here as an internal investigator, but my superior doesn't even read my reports. None of them care. I was sent to this godforsaken town for appearances."

"Come, let's get you to the hospital," Amber said once she had the hoodie secured around her aunt. "I'm not as skilled as Jessy or Uncle Anton, but I know you need to press down on the wound."

She hoisted her aunt up and helped her to the Chev. The light on top of the car rhythmically flushed the women in a monotone of blues. Keeping the siren on, Amber got into the driver's seat and started the engine. Time was running out, and the hospital was on the other side of town, at least ten minutes away if she was fast.

She could do it in four.

With the familiar feeling of a steering wheel in her grip, Amber stepped on the gas and sped ahead. She shifted gears as fast as the car would allow. Second, third, fourth and fifth. The girl pushed the engine to its limit. She fumbled for her phone with her free hand, calling the hospital and shooting a warning at them.

"It's going to be okay," Amber reassured, dropping the call.

"Fuck Richard," Aunt Tessa cursed. "I threatened to report him if he didn't make a move on the bloodlines. I guess he saw my bluff. The whole station must be behind it. Hah. I wouldn't be surprised if it's a police-issued bullet in my gut. Writing my death off as another Dynast-related shooting is pretty clever. I'll give 'em that."

"The police would do that?" Amber asked. "They're supposed to be on the side of justice!"

Aunt Tessa's chuckle sounded wet.

"What does a kid know about justice?" she asked.

"What they did was wrong! Leaving you like that... It's evil!"

"Evil is in the eye of the victim."

"How could you say that?" Her grip tightened on the wheel. "What they did tonight was bad! No question about it!"

The girl did not understand how her aunt was not completely losing it with rage. Amber could burst into flames any second.

"If you're unlucky, you'll understand when you're older," Aunt Tessa said, her voice faint and head limp.

Amber needed to hurry. The road was mostly clear this time of night, but after crossing a red light, two other police cars turned on their sirens and raced after her.

"What the hell?" Amber asked. "Our siren is on. They should know you have an emergency!"

As she said the words, things clicked for her. The police left her aunt to die at the docks. They must have known this was Aunt Tessa's car. It was now clear that they were not coming after the women because they had crossed a red light.

"Bastards!" Amber yelled, flooring the gas pedal.

She could lose the police with no problem if she were in her sports car, but her aunt's car was a normal Chevrolet.

"Wait, this is a rear-wheel drive, right?" Amber asked.

Her aunt's breathing was strained. She nodded.

"Okay, great. I'll get us out of this."

Up ahead was a sharp turn, but Amber did not slack off. She raced forward with no hesitation and, at the last second, dropped a gear. The girl counter-steered and yanked the handbrake. The car skidded into a drift, sliding until it rounded the corner. She released the handbrake, counter-steered again, and shot forward, jumping back to fifth gear. Burnt tyre hung in the air, but it was the least of her worries. When she glanced at the rear-view mirror, the two cop cars collided at the corner and slowed to an awkward stop.

She lost them.

"I'm not completely certain where the hospital is. I'll need you to explain," Amber urged.

Through a shaky breath, Aunt Tessa guided them. It was a means for the girl to keep her aunt awake. They reached Eleanor Memorial Hospital in three minutes, and the car came to a screeching stop right in front of the emergency entrance. Nurses already rushed towards them. Amber jumped out and helped get her aunt on the stretcher. They ran inside and the girl answered any questions they threw at her, explaining that her aunt was shot in the stomach area. She was thanked and then told to wait as they raced Aunt Tessa into the emergency operating room.

With her blood still rushing, Amber stood in the waiting area, keeping her eye on the doors. If the police showed up, she would fight. She was not letting anyone touch her family.

"Dear?" someone asked.

Amber whirled to the person, ready to start swinging.

The nurse stared at her with round eyes.

"What?" Amber asked, out of breath. "Did you hear anything? Is my aunt gonna be okay?"

"Dear, do you want some coffee? Come, sit."

She showed Amber to a seat. The girl was reluctant to sit in case the police decided to attack, but for the nurse's sake, she did as asked. The woman smelled like air freshener and medicine.

"I don't want coffee," Amber answered. "Please tell me if my aunt is going to be okay."

The woman's eyes softened as she said, "Doctor Marigold is on it. He's our best surgeon. And you got here so fast. Thanks to that, I can tell you that things are looking good. However, your aunt has lost a lot of blood and may need a transfusion. Is anyone in your family O blood-type?"

"My whole family is O positive. I'm O negative. Does that help?"

"That's perfect, Dear. If you're willing, we'll need to run some screening tests on you."

"Do whatever is needed."

"Alrighty, wait right here. We'll be with you shortly," she said, getting up and walking to the front desk.

As though a thread holding the girl up was released, she sunk into her seat. Breathe. She could breathe. Her blood calmed.

"Thank goodness," Amber cried, closing her eyes and running her hands through her hair. "Thank goodness," she repeated.

Her driving secured Aunt Tessa's life. Because of Uncle Taminn's relentless lessons, her aunt was safe. Amber hated giving him the credit.

She wanted to call Jessy and tell her what was happening but needed a moment to catch her breath first. Up until tonight, she was sure her reckless actions were what put her family at risk. She was told that laying low meant safety and that her selfish impulses were a danger to those she loved.

And yet...

If she had not followed her instincts and seen what was going on at the docks, her aunt probably would have died. Did the number know about this? No, Amber thought. She was convinced she was only supposed to hear about the idiotic bet. Aunt Tessa was unrelated and alive because of pure coincidence.

Amber set her jaw and shut her eyes even tighter. Because of these bloodlines and the corrupt police of Tygerwel, she almost lost someone she loved. Had she not already made herself a promise?

Never again, she had said. Never again would she be helpless.

Tygerwel has crossed the line, Amber decided. She needed to end this before someone got hurt again. It was a good thing those idiots decided to make a bet on her. There was no way in hell she would fall for either of them. But they will fall, she promised. Oh, she would make West and East crumble and fall for what they did.

Amber Marigold opened her eyes.

"Three can play this game."

***

Yo,

I think some of you might've noticed this chapter is different from the original. I decided to flesh Aunt Tessa out a lot more in the rewrite. It makes for more conflict if Amber's aunt is an officer.

I almost forgot, Mysterious Fucker became Mr President now. For professional and convenience reasons, I thought it would be best not to use a nickname with cussing. Although in my heart he will always be Mysterious Fucker XD

~ Holly Shmit