Emerald Fire: Book 2 of the Jewel Trilogy (Excerpt Only)

PROLOGUE

THAT afternoon, Maxine Bartlett had watched two policemen drag her sister, Robin, kicking and screaming, away. Maxine could remember with perfect clarity Robin's blood soaked clothes, the blood on her hands, the ferocious look on her face, her blonde curls damp with sweat born of fury, one shoe kicked off in h

er struggle with the police. They'd separated the girls, bundling Robin into the back of a police car and Maxine into the back of an ambulance. For the first time in her fourteen year long life, Maxine no longer had Robin beside her. She felt completely alone.

And absolutely terrified.

Maxine clutched the broken strap of her backpack tightly while she stared down at the hole in the toe of her sneakers. She let her straight black hair dangle down in front of her face while she kept her head bowed, effectively shielding her from the outside world. Despite her many questions, no one would tell her anything.

The visit to the county hospital in the heart of Boston had humiliated her. A rushed female doctor poked and prodded and scraped and assured that "this won't hurt a bit" right before hurting Maxine quite a bit. The whole while, a female nurse with bored and somewhat distracted eyes and an absent touch chaperoned the ordeal, snapping occasional Polariods each time the doctor requested one. Someone brought her some new underwear and a pair of scrubs that hung loosely on her long skinny body. The clean scrubs looked starkly bright against Maxine's darker skin and straight black hair.

Five long hours later, a harried social worker arrived and collected Maxine. She introduced herself politely and Maxine instantly forgot the woman's name.

So here she stood – her fourth foster home in just under two years. She could hear other kids playing somewhere out of sight. She wondered, briefly, if anyone her age lived here. She took time to wonder, yet again, where Robin was and what was happening with her – or to her.

She zoned in on the conversation the nameless social worker was having with foster mother number four, catching the last part of the sentence. "…watch her closely for any kind of symptoms, since she refused any prophylactic measures. She has two sisters, and is looking for information on them. I'll see what I can find out."

Maxine flinched and shifted away as the foster mother tried to lay a hand on her shoulder. She felt heat flush her cheeks when she realized what she'd done and tried to relax. The woman didn't reach out again. Fine by Maxine.

"… any other injuries? Does she have stitches or anything that will require special care?"

"Just bruises. No broken bones or open wounds, thank goodness. I'd say she's lucky except, of course, he hurt her in other ways…"

Maxine wished she could drown out their voices. She missed her music, her earphones. She wondered if her Walkman made it into her backpack or if it got left behind. She'd investigate what got packed later.

"Do I need to worry about the other children?" foster mother number four asked.

The social worker flipped through the file in her hand. Maxine knew it was all about her and felt the flush on her cheeks spread to her ears and down her neck. "There's no telling, honestly. Her mother died violently, her sister obviously displays violent tendencies, her last home environment was less than ideal…"

Maxine lowered her head and let the curtain of hair encase her in solitude once more. She kept her head bowed and tried to make her hair completely hide her strongly native American features.

She let her thoughts drift away again, not wanting to hear them talk about her anymore. She imagined herself on the docks listening to the sound of the water slap against the side of the boats harbored there. In her imagination, seagulls squawked overhead, flying against the bright blue sky. She could smell fish and wet wood and salt water and felt the bright spring sun shining down on her black hair.