Flames left behind

3{The introduction}

We turned a corner and were confronted by a building I presumed to be the Institute. He halted and gazed at me. In response, I pursed my lips—not in an attempt to be charming, but rather out of surprise at the sudden stop. I had been taking in our brief stroll, admiring the scenes.

"We rarely see pretty faces around here, let alone girls, and even less so short red-haired vamps. Is that hair color natural? Anyway, you'll have to grow accustomed to the stares; these folks observe everything. They'll absorb every detail, from the small dimple on your left cheek to the way you twist your hands when you're nervous. Look, you're doing it right now. How adorable." I could tell he wasn't sincere when he called me cute, so I didn't take it to heart. I wasn't interested in him anyway. I've made it my personal mission not to become interested in anyone.

He grinned as though he could read my thoughts and ascended the steps to the door, swinging it open. I glanced down at my hands, intertwined tightly. I truly detest this man, despite having only just made his acquaintance. How ironic.

"Welcome, Ambrosia, to the Institute," he boomed dramatically.

When he mentioned that people would stare, I assumed he was exaggerating. However, the way these individuals gawked, it was as if they had never encountered humanity beyond these doors. I observed that nearly everyone was adorned with black tattoos, markings enveloping them from head to toe. I acknowledged these to be the runes I I heard about in passing with Aurel. Perhaps these people belonged to a serial killer society, even a murder cult. It seems believable; in these times, anything is possible.

A few months ago, I attempted to use a rune on myself, one that I had seen in books, which was said to have healing or protective powers. It feels like it was forever ago, yet it was only a year past. It's been long enough for me to forget the minor details, but recent enough to recall the general idea. The rune obviously failed, leaving me with a permanent tear-shaped scar on my upper arm. I fancied it, as if it were a battle scar, but Lily was never entertained by my actions. She insisted I tell no one and erase it from my thoughts. And I complied, until now. Those memories have resurfaced, and I'm uncertain if that's a good thing in this strange, unfamiliar circumstance.

Damian grasped my elbow, which I quickly brushed off as we entered a vast room dominated by a large round table at its center, and a grand chandelier hanging from above. It was another one of those James Arthur tables, similar to the one we had back home, except this one wasn't made of wood and it boasted a modern, 21st-century look. It was an upgraded model, though I hated it. The walls were lined with bookcases, set against gold and blue wallpaper—a beautiful sight. There was an old-fashioned charm to it, as if the place had been standing strong for centuries. Naturally, there were people already seated at the table, their gazes fixed on me. The round, Arthur table. I wondered if square tables existed—I'd love to see one. When I become famous, I'll definitely create a square table, if only to satisfy the human eye and because I can be a bit petty.

There was a petite, pretty blonde girl, a brown-haired boy with a nerdy appearance, a stout black-haired boy with piercing blue eyes, and a strikingly handsome boy with dark brown hair, among several others.

Damian settled next to the blonde, draping his arm around her as she nestled into him, her gaze fixed on me. Amaya, a voice whispered in my mind. I didn't understand how I knew her name; these people were strangers to me. Yet, this was the Amaya whom Aurel feared. She seemed far from intimidating. My mind whirled, labeling each person present: Amaya Zue, Roman Maybon, Teresa Yager, Bret Kim, Don Hendricks, Hanna Kim, Mary Kim, Robert Kim, the Seelie Queen, Damian Brewer, and Ivrolos Wrevock. Ivrolos exerted a strange pull on me as if he were a magnet and I, the opposing pole. He wasn't attractive to me, yet I sensed he had been, or was meant to be, a part of my life. Shaking off the thought, I did a double-take at the Seelie Queen. I had assumed the Consul would have banished her after her alliance with Masaih. Perhaps her allure was too potent for him.

"Dear child, you must be confused. Please, have a seat."

The voice came from a woman with dark brown, almost black hair—Mary Kim. I sat down cautiously, and a man—Robert Kim—winced. To my right, I felt the persistent gaze of the Seelie Queen on me. I fought the urge to shiver under her stare, but failed, and she smiled, seemingly pleased with herself. To my left, Ivrolos Wrevock was squinting at me, as though trying to discern my motives. I raised my eyebrows, hoping to convey innocence. At least, I hoped I appeared innocent. Then he spoke, his eyes no longer narrowed.

"Ambrosia, such an unusual name for an equally unusual girl. It's derived from a vampire name, isn't it?" He didn't wait for my response and carried on speaking.

"I ponder over your true name. You ponder your purpose here, my child. We are all in a state of wonder. And I shall reveal it to you. Are you aware of what a warlock is?"

Who was this old quack? I didn't like the way he called me his child, but as he did, it felt like a string was tugging at my chest. I nodded, prompting him to continue.

"Do you know what a faerie is?" Another nod. It was a half true. I don't precisely know what a faerie is, but I know of them and what they can do.

"And what do you believe you are, Ambrosia?" Everyone stared.

Was this a trick question? I decided to answer honestly. Lying only gets you so far.

"I'm, I'm a vampire sir." Answering honestly always got me in tough places, but oh well.

Murmurs erupted around me. Whispers circled: "Does she not know yet?" "Have we been deceived?" "Is she deceiving us?" Confusion clouded my thoughts. What lies am I accused of? What is it that I don't yet know? My head began to spin, and I steadied myself with a hand on the table. I could already tell, this place was going to be the source of countless headaches.

With a wave of Ivrolos' hand, everyone went silent. One day, I want to be an elder like him and hold that kind of power. One day, I will.

"Child, you are not merely a vampire. Tales, myths, and ancient stories of your kind have been told, though their truth was doubted. But now, here we stand. Ambrosia, you are a unique type of creature, unseen and unheard of for years. You are a blend of warlock, faerie, and vampire."

I blinked. "That's a blatant lie. I am aware of who I am. I am Ambrosia, the second-in-command of Aurel Cassel's clan. Do not disrespect me, do not underestimate me, and stop calling me these names. I am myself, and you, you are simply stupid."

Murmurs intensified, accompanied by occasional gasps and laughter. Among the laughter was Ivrolos', which brought a hint of pleasure to me; he seemed not angered but amused. Another laugh, deep and robust, caught my attention. I attempted to locate its source, but the many voices thwarted my focus.

"My my, your child has a temper Ivrolos." A man with dark hair stood up. Robert. I could feel hate and anger radiating off of him, like heat waves blasting you in the face after you stick your head in an oven.

Why do they continue to say I'm his child when I don't have parents?

"Inquisitor, please, do not interfere in this."

Robert, the man that was standing, looked at the warlock.

"Ivrolos, I am the Inquisitor. It is my job to interfere with problems like her."

Did he just call me a problem? This little nutcase is probably single. Ha. Take that.

I huffed. "The only problem I see here is you."

Before he could utter a word or even glance my way, Ivrolos slammed his hand down on the table. A ring adorned his finger, one that I was quite sure hadn't been there previously. The sound reverberated off the walls, resonating from one person to another.

"Ambrosia. You, are a faean."