Dark Secret
Darkhaven Saga: Book One
Danielle Rose
This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2020 Waterhouse Press, LLC
Original Cover Design by Wicked by Design
Cover Redesign by Waterhouse Press
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Acknowledgments
Continue the Darkhaven Saga with
Also by Danielle Rose
About Danielle Rose
For Aunt Michelle—
for believing in me then,
for guiding me now.
This one is for you.
Chapter One
The house is silent save for the howling wind outside. It threatens us with the commotion of an incoming storm—its strength and fury already enough to send the occasional tree branch crashing against my windowpanes.
This is the first time I’ve had to sneak out to go on patrol. The thought doesn’t sit well with me. I’m used to trust and freedom, not the threat of banishment.
Tossing my covers aside, I sit up and allow my legs to dangle over the side of my bed. I’m already dressed. I began preparing for this moment as soon as Mamá told me I wasn’t allowed to hunt tonight.
Instinctively, I reach for my necklace. I run my thumb down the length of the cross, my strength rejuvenated by its mere presence. The metal is cold to my touch. This two-inch silver cross is the last thing Papá gave me before he sacrificed himself to save Mamá and me from vampires. I never take it off.
I glance around my room in search of his portrait, but I don’t find it. For the first time, I’m thankful Mamá is having the frame redone. I can’t bear the thought of him watching—not tonight. Not until I have proof.
I tiptoe across the room, careful not to step on loose floorboards, and slip into my combat boots. I’ve strategically placed them in front of my dresser, which is directly to the right of my bedroom door.
I’m just feet from my escape now. My breath comes in shallow huffs, and my hands are clammy. I can’t wait to feel the cool breeze against my skin. I wipe my palms against my jeans and try to shake off the fear of being discovered.
I stare at my reflection in the large mirror that hangs on the wall above my dresser and replay each scenario in my mind. Mamá will not be pleased when she discovers I’ve disobeyed her order to retire early and skip my patrol. But I must ignore her. I can’t skip even one night of patrol in favor of rest before our upcoming full moon ritual.
For weeks now, I’ve been burdened by the truth. Nestled deep within the pit of my gut is the feeling that something horrible will soon befall my coven. When I told Mamá, she simply made me a potion mixed with dandelion, wormwood, and calendula herbs to aid my clairvoyance and encourage psychic development. Her disbelief stings. Being the only other spirit witch in our coven, she is supposed to trust my instincts. I may be a novice compared to her, but I still know the signs of impending doom.
Quickly, I tie my hair back and assess my look. I carefully choose my attire for every patrol. Tonight, I’m wearing all black—not unusual for me. My clothes are tight, yet loose enough to sidestep attacks. My jeans are tucked into my boots, and my long-sleeved shirt has small holes that loop around my thumbs, keeping it in place. My exposed neck is protected by my cross.
Missing only two things, I’m nearly ready to begin my patrol.
I grab the small mesh baggie. Last night, I filled it with horehound and mugwort. They’re strong herbs used in protection spells. These aren’t a guarantee, but they can’t hurt. And I’ll take anything I can get. Usually I try to patrol with another witch, but tonight I’m going alone. It’s reckless, but I don’t have another choice. I must hunt until this uneasy feeling goes away.
A long, narrow black box rests atop my dresser. I open the lid. Something washes over me every time I see it, touch it. I run a finger down the long, cool metal, and a jolt of energy shoots down my spine.
What started as plain, bright, and reflective silver is now a formidable weapon. On one end, it’s thick and fits firmly in my hand. On the other, it’s pointed into a sharp dagger.
Forged by witches, the metal was melted into its liquid state and mixed with the strongest protection elixirs. No longer shiny, the weapon, my stake, is a matte dark gray and etched with runes that represent magic, the elements, death, and power.
When I grasp at it to pick it up, it rolls into the palm of my hand as if it somehow knows it should be there. It’s nothing but metal and magic, but it feels alive. It feels like it’s part of me, and as a spirit witch, with little control over the elements, I rely heavily on this stake. It’s saved my neck more times than I care to admit.
I tighten my grasp around it, and suddenly I’m no longer afraid to sneak away and hunt vampires.
I don’t fear Mamá’s reaction or care what the coven thinks. All I can think about is driving this stake into a vampire’s heart and ridding the world of another monster.
I slip the stake into its sheath, which hangs comfortably against my side. Hidden by my arms, blissfully unaware humans don’t notice it. Of course, vampires do. Their senses are far greater than mine. Their strength and speed are unmatched. But they haven’t access to the earth’s magic, and that, in the end, is always the reason why they bite the dust and I make it home for dinner.
I consider staging my room so it looks like I’m sleeping. I could adjust my pillows to make them mirror the shape of my body, but I shrug away the thought. I’m only planning a quick loop around the village. I should be back long before Mamá wakes.
My door creaks as I open it, and I freeze. Seconds tick by. I poke my head past the threshold and scan the hallway. Mamá’s door is still closed. I listen for her soft snoring, my racing thoughts slowing with each exhale.
I tiptoe down the hall and press my ear to her door. If she catches me, I will tell her I am just going to the bathroom. Or maybe I’ll say I can’t sleep, so I’m going downstairs for a snack. Of course, she’d see through both lies. Mamá is a natural lie detector. But I’d have to try.
No noise comes from her room, save for her heavy breathing. I rub my cross for strength and dash through the hall and down the stairs, skidding to a stop at the front door. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m grasping the doorknob, twisting, yanking, and pulling the solid oak open and then closed behind me.
The cool breeze sends a shiver down my spine. I pull my jacket tighter around me to keep out the cold night air and wipe the sweat that’s beaded at my temple. Slowly, I turn to face the outside world.
Our house is still dark. Every other step, I toss a glance behind me until I’m so far down
the street I can’t see home anymore. There’s nothing but dark space, guilt, and dread between Mamá and me now.
I don’t cherish the thought of upsetting her. Some of my worst memories are from times when she’s told me I’ve disappointed her. My very worst memory is when I was too young to help her and Papá. I was the ultimate disappointment.
I kick the pebbles at my feet. I tried explaining how important patrols are right now, but Mamá wouldn’t listen. It’s frustrating that she believes in my magic as a spirit witch, but she doesn’t believe in me. Something dark is coming, I know it, and it’s heading straight for our coven. If she won’t protect them, I will, even if it means lying, sneaking out, keeping secrets, and breaking promises.
The streetlights are bright at this time of night, illuminating the world around me in rays of light, showcasing all the things I don’t notice during the day. That’s my favorite part about patrolling. Mamá doesn’t understand why I love it so much—the hunting, tracking, killing. But there’s something about the way the moon speaks to me. It’s like she sings songs for my ears alone. She calls to me in ways Mamá doesn’t understand. I am destined for the night. For the hunt.
The witches aren’t very good at training me to fight. Rather than using hand-to-hand combat, they rely on their magical affinities for one of the five elements—earth, air, water, fire, and spirit. Even as a coven at full strength, the slightest hiccup can prevent a successful ritual.
Since witches are earthly vessels, our power is finicky and dependent on too many outside factors. To perform a ritual properly and to cast even a simple spell, timing matters. We’re servants to the moon, to the sun, and to the seasons.
Our magic is so much a part of us, it affects witches on a cellular and characteristic level.
A naturally masculine element, fire witches are passionate and creative, and harness a fierce temperament. Fire witches can ignite a flame within their victims, burning them alive, but the element is only at its strongest during midday on a summer afternoon.
The other masculine element is air. Air witches are wise, intellectual beings who rationalize even the most chaotic of times. They can hack through skin with forceful blasts of wind, but they’re only at their most powerful at night in the winter, when the moon is high and the air is cold.
Water is a feminine element. These witches are mysterious, intuitive beings who can turn water droplets into ice shards. They are at their strongest at dusk in autumn.
The final feminine element is earth. Users desire stability, practicality, and materialism in the physical world, but with the snap of their fingertips, earth witches can wield bullets made of stone. Their power is most potent during sunrise in the spring.
Four of the five elements have weapons at their disposal to easily disarm prey. Together, at their strongest hour, they would be unstoppable—but this would never happen. It can’t be midday in the summer and dusk in autumn at the same time. Mamá says the earth can only handle so much magic at once, which is why witches have natural limits and time boundaries.
As a spirit witch, my powers are mental. I have prophetic dreams and can visit the astral plane. Basically, I can feel when something bad is going to happen, and occasionally, I can see snippets of the future when I sleep. These really aren’t the greatest powers to have when I’m facing a vampire in real life.
I keep my mind sharp and focus on the world around me. Darkhaven is a small village in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by the sea on one side and forest on the others, it is a safe haven for the witch covens that call this home. Humans don’t seem to notice when we make our way into the forest for a ritual or to collect plants and berries for elixirs.
The sun won’t rise for hours, so I have plenty of time to loop around town, making sure I hit all the spots vampires are likely to search for food. Evernight Bar and Grill is Darkhaven’s local restaurant and pub. It’s closing in an hour or so, and drunken humans will be stumbling their way through the dimly lit streets like they’re meals-on-wheels. Most of the walking blood bags will be lucky to make it home.
The soft smack of heels alerts me.
I am not alone.
I freeze and wait until my moonlit friend makes another noise but realize the stupidity of my actions. I’m now standing in the middle of the sidewalk, open on all sides, just waiting to be attacked.
I reach for my cross and rub the ever-cool metal against the pad of my thumb. The footsteps draw nearer, and my heartbeat increases to ear-piercing levels.
They’re close.
I want to call out, to shout some obscenity in a sad attempt at looking vaguely threatening. I grasp my stake, and just as I’m about to yank it free, I falter.
What if a human is walking nearby? How am I going to explain carrying a stake? A vampire stake. Thanks to the humans’ love for the supernatural, every idiot out walking after sunset knows exactly what weapon to use to kill a vampire. If I risk exposure, Mamá will have my head. Humans can never know vampires and witches exist.
I loosen my grip and spin on my heels, coming face-to-face with—
“Liv?” I whisper.
My best friend since kindergarten is rushing toward me. She’s replaced her usual preppy clothes with an outfit that looks like it came straight from my closet. She’s dressed in all black and carries her mother’s butcher knife in a white-knuckle grasp with both hands. She holds it out before her like it’s an atomic bomb that will be triggered by the slightest movement.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss when she makes it to my side. “And put that thing down. Someone might see you running down the street looking like Jason Voorhees. How would we explain that?”
“Michael Myers,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Jason Voorhees uses a machete.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. The point is, you look like a psycho. And a machete would probably be more useful. What do you expect to do with that thing? It can’t penetrate their sternum.”
“Well, I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t have to actually use it.” Her eyes are wide, and there are dark circles below her usually well-rested gaze. Seeing her look so exhausted softens my approach.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I knew you’d do something stupid like this.”
“Like what? I always take patrol.”
“Never alone!” Liv counters.
Finally, she lowers her weapon to her side and spins in a full circle twice until she’s sure no one has followed us here.
“Do you realize how ridiculous you look right now?” I hold back a chuckle, which only angers her. She smacks me hard on the arm, and I overdramatically feign discomfort.
“You’ve been talking about this dark presence for weeks now. I just knew you’d sneak out and try to take things into your own hands. You’re too reckless. That’s why Tatiana won’t take you seriously. She probably knew you’d sneak out.”
I wince when she mentions Mamá’s name, and I don’t miss the way she emphasizes dark presence. Like Mamá, Liv doesn’t really believe me either.
“If Mamá knew I’d sneak out, how am I here right now?” I counter. “Don’t you think she’d throw up some kind of boundary spell or something? You know she’d lock me in my room until I’m forty!”
Liv offers a wicked grin. “She definitely would do that. Remember the time you couldn’t even leave your closet until you put away your clothes?”
I snort and steer the conversation back to the point. “You need to go home, Liv.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
“You’ve never trained for this. You could get hurt. Or worse…”
Despite the fact that we’re best friends, Liv isn’t in my coven. Her mother formed her own coven long ago after too many witches settled in this area. It made more sense to form multiple covens under their own leadership than to form one massive coven under one witch. And unfortunately, Liv’s coven doesn’t believe in violence. Even though she’s a fire
witch—arguably one of the strongest elements against vampires—she’s never trained to hunt the undead like I have. She could have been a real asset in our war against these creatures.
“I’m a fire witch. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you.”
I arch a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Ava… Ever since you started having those dreams, you’ve been—”
“Look, I’m fine, okay? And we haven’t the time to discuss this now anyway. If you’re going to come with, then you need to be quiet, stay alert, and do whatever I say exactly when I say it. Got it?”
She nods slowly. I can’t miss her fear.
“I won’t tell anyone about this if you want to go home,” I add.
Her brow furrows. “Let’s go.” She pushes past me and trudges down the sidewalk. I’m not sure where she’s going—and honestly, I’m sure she doesn’t know either—but I follow beside her.
When we reach the cemetery, she shimmies through the iron gates. I sigh and follow after her. It’s time for lesson one in vampire hunting.
“Liv?”
“Hmm?”
“Contrary to just about every supernatural movie ever, vampires don’t actually hang out in cemeteries.”
She spins to face me, eyes in disbelief. “You sure?”
“They eat the living. There’s nothing for them here but dusty bones.”
“I’ve seen TV shows where vampires actually live in mausoleums.”
I snort. “Well, if you’ve seen it on TV, it must be real!”
She rolls her eyes and nudges her shoulder against mine. Together we stand, side by side, facing the seemingly endless rows of perfectly placed headstones. The dead of Darkhaven reside here—including many witches.
Dark Secret (Darkhaven Saga Book 1) Page 1