The Fell of Dark

by Caleb Roehrig

  “Those who believe in the Corrupter are true fanatics. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You saw that guy back there!” Daphne shoots me a wide-eyed glance. “He came for you, but the second I got in his way, I was fair game. Right now, you’re reachable—they obviously know how to get to you without going through your family. But if your parents find out you’re in danger, and they remove you from Fulton Heights? They’re suddenly in the way, too, and they become necessary collateral. Can they swordfight?”

  I freeze, chilled by the picture she’s painting. “Th-there’s still protective custody—or witness protection.”

  “You think vampires can’t mesmerize cops or FBI agents?” she counters. “Not to mention the fact that you’d have to convince the authorities you’re worth spending those resources on in the first place. I don’t think you want to try that.”

  “Why not?”

  She lets out a bone-weary sigh. “That guy just now? He was human. Really strong and incredibly skilled, but still just a living, breathing human who really wanted you dead.”

  “W-what…” But I can’t finish. I don’t know how to ask.

  “What I’ve been trying to tell you is that if the legends of the Corrupter are real, then it’s already inside you, Auggie. You can’t escape the prophecies. There’s nowhere to hide.” Her words are blunt and cold as she navigates a corner into my neighborhood. “The Syndicate wants to keep you locked up as an incubator, and when humans find out what you might bring forth, they’ll want to kill you before you can hatch.”

  Daphne’s tone is ominous, as if I need special emphasis to understand how extra-double fucked I am.

  “Oh.” I swallow hard, my throat thick with fear.

  “There are all sorts of ragtag anti-undead human militias around the world these days, some more sophisticated than others. The Persean Knights have a lot of company.” We reach my block and she slows, pulling up to the curb outside my house. Snow is still drifting down, dusting the porch overhang like sugar, and everything looks so peaceful it makes me want to scream. Quietly, Daphne says, “I left him alive so he can crawl back to his friends, or whoever sent him, and let them know you’re protected. It’ll buy us some time before whoever it is tries again.”

  “They’re going to try again?” I swivel to her in horror. “What if they come here?”

  “I’ll make some calls, see if I can get eyes on your house when I’m not around,” she promises, gripping my shoulder with a comforting hand. “Look, if there’s a way to stop the prophecy from coming true, or to prove that it’s a hoax, the Brotherhood will find out. In the meantime, I’m going to do everything I can to see that you’re protected. I know this is awful, but you’ve got to do your best to act like everything’s normal.”

  I laugh wildly, shaking my head. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

  “I’m serious, Auggie.” She meets my eyes, and she looks like the old Daphne—the one I thought she was all along: sweet, sisterly, tough in a kind way. “No matter what happens, you’ve still got a life to live. Don’t waste it by giving in to fear of what might be coming. Don’t let a possible future ruin what you’ve got right now.”

  “I’ll try,” I hear myself saying, but that hollow feeling only widens. Someone just tried to kill me, I’m drawing death scenes on autopilot, vampires have books with my name in them, I’m slowly becoming possessed, and the only person I can trust is someone who’s been lying to me for the past six months. And her sage advice amounts to Hang in there, baby! How am I supposed to keep this a secret? How am I supposed to smile?

  Once again, Daphne waits at the curb, watching me like a guard dog as I shuffle up the walk in a daze. Mounting the porch steps with Frankenstein feet, I dig for my keys with fingers that are still restless with fear. My house is empty right now; my mom is working late, and my dad will be at the gym, so at least I won’t have to worry about them being killed in a staged home invasion if that ninja has impatient friends.

  At least not tonight.

  I’m so distracted by my jittery thoughts that somehow, ironically, I don’t even realize that I’m not alone on the porch until it’s too late—until the shadows beneath the overhang divide, and a tall figure lurches at me out of the darkness.

  11

  The keys drop from my hands and I scramble back, my heart slamming into my throat. My heel hits empty space at the top of the porch steps, and I wobble dangerously—my life a Choose Your Own Adventure that’s about to end in either Ninja or Gravity—when the figure moves into the moonlight. “Don’t freak out, Auggie, it’s just me!”

  My would-be attacker grabs me and hauls me back to safety. I blink, rapid-fire, not sure I can trust my eyes. The surfer hair, the soft lips, the jawline … I recognize him, of course, but how messed up is it that I’m more shocked to find a cute boy on my porch than a deadly assassin? “G-Gunnar?”

  “Hey.” He grins, his smile as warm as my favorite peppermint s’mores mocha. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I got here a few minutes ago and was trying to decide if I should leave a note or just … leave, when your ride pulled up.”

  He jerks a thumb in the direction of Daphne’s car, still idling at the curb, her profile a hazy smudge through fogged windows. Can she even see him? I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because she doesn’t exactly work for me, but I could have just been slaughtered on my front porch! This is exactly what I was worried about.

  “I…” My brain is still several beats behind. “Sorry, hi. What?”

  “I got here a few minutes ago,” Gunnar repeats slowly, his dramatic eyebrows slanting upward with worry. “I knocked, but there was no answer, and I was trying to decide what to do. You probably think I look like a stalker now.”

  “No, you look great,” I assure him quickly, because my special talent is humiliating myself in front of cute boys. Sighing, I retrieve my keys. “Sorry. Again. I’ve … had a weird night.”

  “I’m sure I’m not helping.” His grin takes on an abashed quality, and my heart melts just a little. And then, remembering Jude, I try to freeze it back up. Maybe I need to stop being such a sucker for a pretty face.

  “I don’t mean to sound rude, but … what are you doing here?”

  “Oh! Sorry,” he repeats, and then grabs something off the porch railing, presenting it with a flourish. “You left this at the café the night that, you know, a vampire catapulted through our front window.” In his hands, he’s holding my US History textbook, and I actually glance over my shoulder at my backpack for a second, as if somehow he swiped it from me while I wasn’t paying attention. “I guess we could’ve just kept it behind the counter—you come in pretty often. But I thought if you had, like, a test coming up or something, you might want it?”

  He looks down at his hands as he mumbles the last part, and I accept the book, still staring. I should probably just be grateful, like a normal person, but paranoia keeps whispering little warnings in my ear. “How did you even know where I live?”

  “Your name is written inside it. I looked up ‘Pfeiffer in Fulton Heights,’ and this address was the only result. It’s part of why I couldn’t decide what to do when no one answered the door. I mean, if it wasn’t your house, I didn’t want to just leave the book.”

  The explanation makes sense—of course it makes sense. I rub my forehead like it’ll chase away my scrambled thoughts. “Thanks. I hadn’t even realized I’d lost it.”

  “Oh good. Then you didn’t need it for a test or whatever.”

  “No, I mean, I totally did.” The test was this morning, and I’m pretty sure I failed it. “That’s what we were studying for when Mr. Toothy showed up. I’ve just been … I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  “It was a pretty intense night.” He grimaces, and lines appear at the corners of his mouth. Somehow, I find them sexy, and I’m pretty sure something’s wrong with me. “Are you doing okay? The way he got in your face … you must’ve been terrified.”

  I can’t think o
f an elegant reply. “I didn’t shit myself, so I’m proud of how I handled things.”

  “Impressive.” He grins, more lines appearing. “I admire intestinal fortitude.”

  “I might have peed a little, though,” I admit.

  “I’m not judging—I had it easy.” Gunnar shrugs, his eyes comfortably on mine. “I just got wrecking-balled across the room by a screaming, blood-soaked mom. Luckily, all I hurt was my whole entire body.”

  “Oh yeah. Ouch.” I push my glasses up my nose, still discombobulated by the events of the night—by the fact that Gunnar the Sexy Barista is here now, talking to me. “Are you okay? No permanent damage?”

  “Just the psychological trauma,” he replies cheerfully.

  “Cool, cool.” Furtively, I cast another glance back at Daphne’s car. It’s still there—she’s still watching. The fact gives me a little bit of comfort, but who knows when the next attack might happen? “Um, would you like to come inside? I’m kind of freezing my ass off.”

  Gunnar hesitates, but then says, “Sure. I shouldn’t stay too long, but okay.”

  My nerves fray even further as I unlock the front door, my thoughts smashing around like bumper cars. I have invited a cute boy inside! Whatever’s going on here, I am prolonging it! Already my mind is going blank, and I have no idea what else to say. WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T SHOW HIM THE SCARY RAG DOLL!

  “That’s my mom’s terrifying rag doll,” I say the literal second the door is closed behind us, and it’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. Naturally, the doll is propped up on the counter, where it watches us like a sentinel guarding the gates of hell. “Try not to look it in the eye.”

  “Holy shit.” Gunnar’s brows climb most of the way to his hairline. “Is it a Horcrux? Because it really looks like there’s a bunch of souls trapped inside of it.”

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” Shrugging out of my backpack, I wince, my elbow throbbing; when I get my coat off, there’s blood seeping through my sweater. “Shit.”

  “Oh man, are you okay?” Gunnar steps into me, gently taking hold of my arm and rotating it. He smells like fresh, cold air, and just his touch makes different parts of me start to firm up. His hair is glossy, his lashes curl upward, and there’s spearmint on his breath.

  “I’m okay,” I squeak. “I … fell earlier.” Repeating myself, I add, “It’s been a weird night.”

  Holding my tricep in one hand and my wrist in the other, Gunnar bends my arm carefully. Looking me in the eye, he asks, “Does this hurt?”

  “N-not really.” I can hardly breathe.

  “Good.” He releases his grip and steps away again, but my heart is still fluttering. “Then it’s probably not broken. I fractured a bone in my arm falling out of a tree when I was little, and it sucked. Hurt like hell for days—I had to wear a sling and everything.”

  “I’ve never broken a bone before.” I’m very smug about this. I take off my glasses so I can work the sweater over my head, and my T-shirt rides all the way up with it. As I tug it down, I glance at Gunnar, and I swear his eyes flick guiltily away from the bare skin of my exposed stomach. Heat rushes through me again, my face tingling. “I, um … Do you want anything? I can get you some water, or…?”

  “Honestly, I should really get going.” He fidgets, picking at his sleeves. “I just wanted to make sure you had your book, and…” He trails off, sighs, rubs his face. Then his smile comes back, self-effacing and almost goofy. “Ugh, how am I so bad at this?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, wadding up my sweater, my hands acting of their own accord.

  He rakes his fingers through his hair. “The reason I didn’t just leave the book at Sugar Mama’s is because I wanted an excuse to see you. It’s like … every time you come in, I could swear you’re trying to flirt with me—but I’m afraid to flirt back, because if I’m wrong, things could get weird, and you’d never come into the café again. Or you would, and it would be awkward.” He glances up at me with a sheepish grin. “And, of course, I’ve just made sure things will be awkward anyway. How am I so bad at this? I’m sorry, I’ll—”

  “Wait!” I stop him before he can reach the door. “Are you saying that you came over here to flirt with me? Seriously? Like … seriously?”

  Gunnar laughs. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Well, kinda, yeah.” Scrunching my nose, I point out, “You’re all … you. And I’m all, like, me.”

  “Okay, I have no idea what that means. But I like you, Auggie. You’re cute, and you make me laugh, and I never know what you’re going to say next … I like that you’re always a surprise.” He shrugs, seeming embarrassed by all this apparent honesty.

  My sweater drops to the floor, and I barely notice. Living in Fulton Heights, I’ve always been different—the gay kid, the art nerd, the weirdo. Plus, I’m a mess, with hair that sticks up all the time, glasses that are always askew, and, you know, a monster growing inside of me. By contrast, Gunnar is all shiny skin and cool dude-necklaces. I’d dreamed but never for a moment truly believed that he would even notice me, let alone—

  “You’re gay?” I squint at him, still trying to make all this add up.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” He bobs his head awkwardly. “If I’ve made things weird, I’m really sorry. I just … Well, we only get so much time, right?”

  Pulling out one of the barstools at the counter, I collapse into it. “You … like me?”

  “Yes!” Gunnar actually laughs. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”

  “Nobody’s ever liked me before,” I answer honestly. Except Jude, sort of—but he might have only flirted with me because he wants to stuff me in a cage until I hatch.

  “Well … ta-da!” He does a goofy little dance step, somehow even more attractive than ever. “Listen, if you’re not feeling it, that’s okay; I should go anyway. But I just thought, you know, if you were feeling it … we could get coffee, or something. Somewhere that’s not Sugar Mama’s.”

  “Like…” I scratch my neck where the heat makes it tingle. “You mean, kind of like a date?”

  “Or an actual date. If you’re cool with it.”

  For a moment I just stare at him. About twenty minutes ago, a guy with two swords was trying to vivisect me in a parking lot—right after a four-hundred-year-old vampire told me I’m the undead’s version of Aladdin’s lamp, destined to barf up a wish-granting super being that will give them eternal life; fifteen minutes ago, I was a sobbing, snot-covered wreck, desperate to flee the country and hide forever. I still want to run and hide. With four walls around me and a front door that locks, I feel safer … but I know it’s an illusion. Even if vampires can’t get in, ninjas don’t need an invitation to pick a lock and katana me to death.

  The world as you know it, as we all know it, could be coming to an end. I should really tell Gunnar thanks, but no thanks. As lonely as I am, as lonely as I’ve been—as much as I’d love to be kissed by a boy just one time before I’m possessed … how can I even consider it?

  Daphne’s words come back to me: You’ve still got a life to live. As messed up as that life is, she’s right. I’m sick of being told that if I just wait two more years, if I just get into college, I can move to a city where the closest real-life gay guy isn’t ten miles away. Most of my straight friends have been dating since middle school, and I’m sick of being told that when I’m eighteen, I might finally get the chance to catch up to them—to hold hands with someone, to know what it feels like to want someone who wants me back.

  I might never turn eighteen; I don’t know if I have two months left, let alone two years. If the Corrupter is real, and the Brotherhood can’t figure out how to stop it from Ascending, my time is already running out. All I have is now, and even though I am definitely on the verge of a panic attack, I don’t want to miss out. Not if I’m going to die.

  “I think a real date would be very cool,” I manage to say, nodding, my face kind of hot and my breathing all funny.

  “
Awesome.” Gunnar smiles again, showing all those perfect teeth. How are teeth sexy? They’re pieces of actual bone that stick out of your face, but I want to lick them anyway. We exchange phone numbers and then say an awkward goodbye—but he hugs me before he leaves, and it’s amazing.

  “Be careful,” I call out as he skips down the stairs of the porch—but he doesn’t even look back. No one is out to kill him.

  * * *

  After he’s gone, the house becomes a trap, every pane of glass an easy entry for a masked murderer. The air is so still the quiet hurts my ears, and when I walk, the sound of my footsteps is unnerving. I take a knife, climb the stairs to my bedroom, and turn my desk chair to face the window, so I can be ready.

  Shutting my eyes, struggling to concentrate, I think about what I felt on Ximena’s porch the other night—what I felt at Sugar Mama’s, and sitting across from Jude in the food court. If this ability to sense vampires really comes from an entity developing inside of me, I definitely don’t want to welcome it into my consciousness, but right now I’m desperate to know what’s out there, and this undead radar is my secret weapon. My only weapon.

  For a long time, there’s nothing. But then something connects, wires touching in a part of myself I can’t identify, and the back of my neck prickles—a rush passing over my skin. And then I sense them—two vampires. One is about ten yards away, the other about fifteen, on opposite sides of the house. They aren’t moving.

  Ironically, it’s the first time all night I’m able to relax. My guess is that the Syndicate is having my house watched, and even though that should freak me out, it doesn’t. They can’t come in, but they won’t want me to get killed by vigilante ninjas—not while my body is still pressure-cooking the Endless One. The enemy of my enemy is … okay, well, the Syndicate is still totally my enemy. But as long as they want me to stay alive, our goals are temporarily aligned, and I will gladly let them protect me from assassins.

  * * *