Omens (wattys2016)

Twenty-one.

     "Teach  me to fight."

     Jackson looked up from his seat in the gazebo, eyes carefully studying my face to see if I am being serious or not.

     After a twenty minute argument with Gabriel this morning it was decided that I would not being attending school today. This meant that I not only would be missing the last day of class before Thanksgiving break, but also the mid-year review I had been prepping for so many weeks. There had been little I could say in my defense on why he should let me go that could not be instantly refuted by Gabriel's ever growing list of 'reasons why Omera shouldn't leave the house.' Not that he didn't make a great point. It was obvious, now so more than ever, that other supernaturals could feel my presence the same way the hunters could. The fact that you could pick my power up from miles away didn't help either.

     Gabriel was right, leaving the house wasn't safe. The last thing I needed was to be attacked in the middle of AP Literature. Or worse, have someone attacked because I was near them. There was already too much blood on my hands.

       I had spent the better part of the morning in the study, reading anything I could get my hands on. I had started with the journals, curious to learn more about what Jackson and his family did. The room contained a copy of every journal written by every hunter. It gave detailed accounts of their lives, the demons they encountered and how they had died. The more I read the tighter the knot in my stomach grew. Most of these hunters only had one thing in common, they never lived past the age of thirty-five.

     The "encyclopedia of demons", or at least that's what I was referring to it as, was my favorite of all the books. The book had to be a few thousands of pages long, not sitting on the shelf, but perched on a large book stand. Someone had taken a great deal of time on this, taken the time to categorize the supernatural creatures all the past and present hunters had encountered. I had flipped through the pages, scanning briefly over the descriptions. I had taken extra time reading about the Deralyt demon, stunned when I reached the part stating that a person bitten by one had a two percent chance of survival. I had shuddered, reaching  subconsciously to the bandage on my shoulder.

     By noon I had read as much as I could, my eyes beginning to grow sore from staring at the small print. The more I read the more apparent it became that I was not fully prepared if something were to happen. The idea had slammed into me and I had begun my search for Jackson.

     "Why?" Jackson asks, marking the page he was reading and placing the book into his lap. He raises a questioning brow.

     "I could have died last night. I'm tired of always being afraid. Of sitting around all day hoping nothing bad happens and praying that, if it does, one of you are nearby to save me. It's ridiculous! I should be able to protect myself.  I'm tired of it all. Being scared. Being worried about what people are thinking about me. Being too scared to set front out the front door because there might be a demon out there waiting for me. All of it!" The words spewed from my mouth, things I had been too afraid to say for the longest time. Last night had woken up something in me. Something that was tired of being weak. Tired of always being the victim.

     "Makes sense." Jackson stands up, placing the book down where he had been sitting. I eye the cover, disappointed to see the fine words printed on the front in a foreign. I didn't know he could read Latin. Then again, I didn't really know anything about him other than what Max had confessed to me early this morning.

      He strolls to the middle of the over-sized yard, peeling his shirt off and tossing it casually to the side. I try not to stare but, holy hell, the way he looks does crazy things to my mind. I'm suddenly all too aware of how plain I am compared to the picture of perfection standing in front of me.