Dark Spell

by Danielle Rose

  Dark Spell

  Darkhaven Saga: Book Four

  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

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  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

  Acknowledgments

  Continue the Darkhaven Saga with

  Also by Danielle Rose

  About Danielle Rose

  For Heather—

  because you inspire me to write a more

  selfless, beautiful, and strong version of Ava.

  Never dull your shine.

  Chapter One

  The world is silent. The chill in my bones and ache in my muscles will not relinquish their hold over me, no matter how desperately I try to shake away the feeling. Relief is always out of my grasp.

  I stare at my hands, noticing how much I have aged in these few short months. My skin, no longer smooth or cool or pale, is dry and cracked, tainted by nights of neglect. Before, I did not have to worry about the mundane.

  But I do now.

  I feel its disappearance. There is a hole in my gut, and it screams at me. It is dark and dank and hollow within my core, and it stares me down, angry with my choices but conflicted by my lack of emotions. It is just as confused as I am.

  The darkness within my body wants me to react, but I cannot. The world is spinning, moving forward in time, while I am desperate to latch on to something safe and familiar. I feel as though I will be lost in this moment forever, never quite finding my way home and always aware that I am without hope of ever being found.

  Only moments ago, I was grounded between two worlds, yet a resident of neither. Now, I am slipping away, floating into the darkness, releasing my hold over the physical plane and entering the abyss. The world moves below me, and I watch it from where I am perched. I try to reach for the girl I once was, but she moves away at the perfect moment for me to grab on to her.

  I sit in a chair. I do not know how I got inside the house, but somehow, I am here. I am no longer lying on the grass, looking at the sun. I no longer feel the burn in my eyes from staring at it for far too long. I am no longer blinded by my desire to watch as the world is bathed in light.

  I am at a table. I lean back in my chair, moving so mechanically I have to wonder if I am even alive at all. Maybe this is a dream, and I will wake soon. But I know it is a lie my mind is telling me.

  I look around the room but only as far as my eyes can see.

  I do not turn my head to see more.

  I do not inhale deeply for familiar scents.

  I do not listen for noticeable sounds.

  I do not taste the morning dew that lingers in the air.

  I do not feel the earth calling to me.

  Cut off from my senses, I am empty, hollow, dead.

  “Ava, ¿puedes escucharme?” Mamá asks.

  I do not respond. I hear her voice. I know my mother is asking if I can hear her, and part of me does. The part that is still encased within my mortal coil responds to her voice, to her nearness, to her familiarity. I know she is beside me, crouching to look into my eyes. I see her worry lines, her tired eyes. She smells like sage. When I look at her, I see the fear in her eyes, hear it in her voice.

  But the part of me that truly lived, the part that really experienced this world and all it could offer me, does not hear her. Because it can’t hear anymore.

  The vampire is dead.

  I know the exact moment it was ripped from my soul, tearing through flesh, leaving a ragged, haggard mess in its wake. What remains is an emptiness, and it threatens to swallow me whole.

  When I look into the dark pit, I suck in a sharp, steely breath, and I almost want it to devour me. I am desperate to escape this world, even if my only escape is a prison far worse than the one I am held in now.

  The dark spell Mamá performed severed the witch from the vampire. No longer a hybrid, I feel as though I am neither. With the vampire gone, the witch is supposed to remain, but does she? I do not feel the way I used to. In fact, I do not feel like a witch or a mortal. I do not even feel alive. I am dead, and that sensation blankets me, embracing each curve in darkness. The seclusion is suffocating.

  “Ava, answer your elder,” someone says, trying to break my silence.

  Does she not understand that I want to respond? I want to feel normal and answer and be my usual witty self. But I cannot. My silence is not laced with spite or malicious intentions. I just. can’t. answer.

  She clears her throat, and I know her voice. It is Abuela, my grandmother. She is the high priestess of this coven, and she is the reason I am like this. When she severed my better half, she linked my soul to my mother’s. Even now, I feel Mamá’s aura inside me. I feel her more prominently in my very soul than I feel my own essence.

  It strikes me suddenly, and I am overwhelmed by the thought that pain might be the only thing left for me. What kind of life is that? Why would Mamá risk such magic? And how can she do this to a loved one?

  When I think of my mother, I see only evil. That darkness and its promise are silencing my fears. It speaks to me, telling me I will never be alone, not anymore, even when I want so desperately to shake free from its chains. I do not want to be tied to her. This invisible connection is forming a noose around my neck, and it is tightening around my throat so I cannot speak, cannot scream, cannot plead with my captors for my freedom.

  But even if I could, I know my mother would not grant it. They will never allow me to return to the vampires, and even more so, they will not risk temptation. But what does that mean? Will I forever remain within these walls, a prisoner in my own childhood home? Am I to live here? To die here? I imagine my mother intends to never let me go. This spell ensures my life is now in her hands.

  I would give anything to be a hybrid again. I want to connect to the earth. I want to feel the wind against my skin as I run through the forest. I want to smell the rain and hear the slithering of worms in the soil. I want to touch the new fallen snow and feel more than its crisp bite at my fingertips.

  The darkness shades everything in gloom, and I am drowning. I cannot move, cannot think, cannot speak, but I am well aware that I am sinking further into black quicksand. I feel the grains between my fingers and toes. The grit coats my legs and cakes around the curves of my chest. It is heavy against my lungs, and I want to scream. I want to shout at the witches and curse them for what they have done.

  But I do not. I cannot. Like my mind, my muscles are numb, my voice mute. When I close my eyes, I see flashes of crimson irises and waves of blood. When I open them, I see only a loveless house, inhabited by heartless strangers.

  A single tear escapes my lid, sliding down the sharp slope of my bones until it sp
lashes on my chest. It seeps through my shirt, but I do not feel the dampness. I watch its slow progression, completely immobilized and dazed.

  When I scan the room again, searching for something familiar, something safe, I spot Will. He walks into the house from the sliding doors that lead to the backyard. The witches usher him inside, seating him across from me. He follows their lead, silent and compliant.

  He does not look at me. His eyes, no longer crimson, are dark and moody. They are deep brown or maybe blue. Sitting a few feet away, I cannot tell. I blink several times, trying to clear my vision, but it is no use. I cannot see him any clearer. The color of his eyes remains a mystery, but one thing is certain: he is not a vampire anymore.

  His hair is messy and damp. His face is scratched and bloodstained. His nose is bleeding, and a single line drips down his chin. His lips are cracked and dry. When the glass doors open, sending a rush of wind throughout the house, he and I both shiver from the icy breeze. The witches, dressed to withstand the sharp lashings winter bestows upon Darkhaven, do not react to the cold.

  Liv is standing near Will, but she is looking at me. I wonder how I look to her. Do I look as different as I feel? Or will the witches expect me to be the girl they once knew?

  But I know I am not her. Not anymore. The Ava they mourn died so long ago, I feel as though I never knew her at all. I am not confident they knew her either. I like who I became after my transition. I was strong and selfless, loved and respected. And I had friends, family, who would die for me.

  I yearn to see Jasik again. I think Mamá’s final cruel joke when she left me a shell of the girl I once was, was that she stole all senses save for one: my ability to feel pain. I ache for my sire from my heart to the depths of my soul. The truth that I abandoned him to save these people, who would no sooner burn me at the stake, does not sit easy with me.

  I feel their betrayal in my bones, and it stings like the summer Mamá doused my fresh cuts in lemon juice, praising the tart fruit’s healing properties. I did not heal any faster, but the pain from cutting my hand eased after I had something new to focus on: the tart bite of deception.

  “Perhaps they should rest,” Liv says, her voice soft and far too quiet for the girl who helped plan my demise. What happened to the brazen fire witch who threatened to set me aflame? Was she sent into the same bleak hole as the vampire who once inhabited my body?

  I glance at her, and I see her agony. She hates herself for what she’s done to me, but I cannot help believing she only feels regret because I am mortal again. If I were still a vampire, would she care? If I died instead of being reborn, would she mourn me? I remember the way she looked only an hour ago. She had such anger, such hatred in her eyes, so I do not think she would. Everything about her is fake.

  Mamá guides me from the kitchen to the hallway. From the hallway, she leads me upstairs to my bedroom. Gently, she places me on the bed, tucks me in beneath the covers, and kisses my forehead.

  “I know this is difficult for you, mija,” she says. “But trust that I am doing what is best for you.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to look into hers any longer. I hate that they look like hers now.

  When she leaves, she turns off the light and closes my bedroom door.

  I stare at the ceiling. The thick curtains are drawn, but sunlight shines through the edges. Even with these strips of light, I cannot see the room. It is so dim that I find myself drifting off, with nothing but the steady clicks of a nearby clock to guide me into the abyss.

  When I wake, the sun is gone, and the moon does not speak to me. I touch the window, letting the rush of cold slither from my fingertips to my spine. Goose bumps form, and I wrap my arms around myself to keep out the chill.

  Ignoring a note on my bedside table to wash and dress, I stare at my old bedroom. Mamá kept it the same, and as I pace the floor, I shuffle through the items I could not take the first time I was ousted from my childhood home.

  Pictures are still stacked in a pile on the floor. My desk is still cluttered, gathering dust like the rest of my potential. When I reach my dresser, my breath catches in my throat. Sitting atop the scratched wood surface is a plain black box. It is rectangular and sleek. I run my fingertips along the edges and gnaw on my lower lip, praying this is not part of my mother’s cruel game.

  I open the box, letting the lid fall back as I stare inside. Sleek, matte gray with a shiny silver tip, my stake glistens at me. Etched with runes and doused in magic, it yearns to be used. It used to call to me, but now, I hear nothing. I feel nothing.

  As I tease the metal with my fingers, I find myself wondering if this was Mamá’s plan all along. Did she hope I would leave this behind one day? Did she intend to reintroduce us after performing her dark spell? Did she plan for this to be a peace offering or a welcome-home gift?

  I grasp the weapon and curl my fingers around its girth. Sniffling, I remember when Papá gave this to me. As Abuela’s son, he was supposed to take over leadership of the coven, and then it was to go to me. His death meant he would be bypassed, and for as long as I can remember, I felt obligated to prove myself to my grandmother. I never wanted to be a leader. I wanted to be a savior. I wanted to protect the humans and witches of Darkhaven from vampires. Only after I transitioned did I learn about the witches’ dishonesty.

  I glance at my weapon as it rolls against my palm. It feels…different. Off somehow. Or maybe it is me. Either I have lost my power and my connection to the earth, or my stake has, and honestly, I am not sure I want to know which.

  I wipe my nose and slide my stake into my jacket’s inner pocket. This is where I have kept it for years. I used this very weapon in my quest to rid the world of evil—or what I thought to be evil. Later, when I learned only rogue vampires have bad intentions, I tried to explain my discovery to the witches. They did not believe me, listen, or care about my findings. They just wanted vampires dead.

  I try to withdraw my stake quickly, seamlessly, and I stumble over the motions. I lose grip of it, and it tumbles to the floor. It smacks against the hardwood, clanking viciously until it rolls to a stop. I scoop it up so quickly, I nearly trip over my feet. I lean against the bed frame and securely tuck my weapon back into my pocket.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. I am so fearful the stake was placed there by accident and that the witches are going to make me give it back. But I do not want to. I may be surrounded by his pictures hanging from frames on the walls in every room of this house, but once I break free from this prison, my stake and my cross necklace are all I will have left of Papá.

  I thumb the necklace at my chest, finding the familiar, smooth metal to be soothing, but still, something seems different. Everything about how I experience the world has changed. I do not feel comfortable in my own skin or my childhood home or even in Darkhaven. And I am terrified of what the witches will do next.

  I cross over to the window and pull back the curtain. The moon is high in the sky, cascading light over the small village. I run my tongue over my teeth, where there once were fangs, and sigh. With one quick, sharp exhalation, I exit my bedroom and venture downstairs. If I want to escape this hell, I need to show the witches I am one of them again. Maybe they will let down their guard long enough for me to find my way back to the vampires.

  “Good evening, Ava,” Abuela says. She stands as I walk into the living room.

  I nod at her and glance around the room, searching for Will. When the witches have gone to bed, I plan to make my escape, and I bet he will want to come with me. When I do not find him right away, I frown. Where could he have gone? Better yet, what have the witches done to him?

  “Where is Will?” I ask, my tone much more forceful than I intended. Internally, I chastise myself. This is the first time I have spoken to them since being cursed, and my concern is for Will, not the others. Even though I know this will not win me any favors, I cannot help myself. I must find him.

  Abuela narrows her gaze at me, sensing my frustration with ou
r situation. I do not hide the fact that I fear for his safety, and this upsets my grandmother.

  “Why don’t you take a seat,” my grandmother says. “We have much to discuss.”

  “I do not want to sit. I want to find Will. Where is he?”

  I sound like an unruly child, but I do not care. I will not relent until he and I are reunited, even if that means facing the worst the witches can throw at me. I brace for impact, resigning myself to what is sure to be misery and pain.

  “Ava, mija, por favor siéntate,” Mamá says.

  I did not hear her approach. She crosses the room and reaches my side. With her guiding hand, she ushers me to a seat in the only open chair. Her subtle direction but firm tone is all I need to succumb to her desire.

  “Where is Will, Mamá?” I ask, hoping I can play on her guilt. I speak softly, kindly.

  “Él está por allá. He is with Liv,” Mamá says. She glances over my shoulder, her eyes guiding me to where I cannot see.

  I frown and follow her gaze. He is sitting at the dining table, in the very seat he was ushered to hours ago.

  “Has he been there this whole time?” I ask, confused.

  Mamá nods.

  My heart sinks, knowing how exhausted he must feel, and a small part of me is afraid his exhaustion will be his weakness. If we plan to escape a coven of witches, I need him at his full strength. The moment we get outdoors, we will have to run, and the woods will not be kind to us.

  I stand to aid him, but Mamá’s hand at my shoulder stops me. When I look into her eyes, I see something there. I lose myself in her gaze, my mind swirling around this quiet void.