The Aching Darkness_A Dark Fantasy Anthology

by Parker Sinclair

  “Filthy, mangy—I don’t know why you chose that as your familiar, Fey. Nasty little creatures they are,” Larae hissed as she took a seat next to her on the sofa. It didn’t take her long to jump right back up to check the bottom of her dress as her bum hit the fabric of the seat. Patting down her backend, she hissed at Hex to back off any further desire to be petted.

  “She’s upstairs,” Fey murmured faintly. Her eyes were adrift, lost in thought as she pointed over to the staircase that led up to gran’s room. Larae leaned in and pulled a handkerchief from her bag, offering it to the miserable girl.

  “There, there, child. Tell me what you remember.” Fey shot a dejected glance in Larae’s direction and struggled to remember what happened to her grandmother Aris.

  “I don’t really remember, it’s all so foggy. I just remember running into her room to check on her and … and …” She choked as tears threatened to break free from her puffy, red eye lids. She painfully forced them back and stared into her cousin’s magnetic brown eyes.

  “I know it sounds far-fetched, but I cannot remember a single detail. This has never happened to me before. I can’t control it.” She openly revealed. She wasn’t sure what had prompted her to be so transparent to her so-called cousin.

  Whatever it was, she didn’t like it one bit. “That’s all right, Fey. I’m sensing strong remnants of the murderer’s Unda Chao waves (wave of chaos) coming from upstairs. They’re almost overbearing, as if there must still be a trace of magic left from our intruder in Aris’s room. I’ll go take a look,” she answered without giving the girl much room to speak, and stood as she motioned for Fey to stay put with a flick of her fingers.

  Did she just compel me to sit down? Fey speculated curiously as she pondered what her cousin might be up to.

  “I’ll be back in short order. Don’t worry, I’ll inform you of my findings,” Larae replied as though Fey were a servant girl, and this place she’d lived in for the better part of her life didn’t belong to her.

  “I’m sorry,” Larae interjected before Fey could make a comment.

  “I Just assumed you wouldn’t want to go back up there,” Larae forewarned evenly as though she cared about Fey’s feelings.

  There it is, Fey thought optimistically. She could finally see a bit of goodness shining through Larae’s tough, outer exterior. It was imminently apparent that she had, over the years, built up a wall. Her actions, mannerisms, and tone made her seem like a completely different person. These days, Fey had come to find that her cousin barely had contact with the other witches and warlocks in Edelweiss Pines.

  Larae had no one to report to other than the committee, and was in a leadership role within the protection faction. That type of job would cause anyone to become pretentious, Fey thought unwillingly justifying the ageing witch’s actions.

  “I think you’re right. I’ll just stay down here,” she agreed without protest, pointing to the nearby couch. Being up there and seeing what there was to see was not something she felt she could view again. Her grandmother’s state wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was an awful sight, and upon witnessing it, the scene placed demented thoughts in Fey’s mind. She felt a dark presence surface, one that clouded her judgment more than she’d like to admit. The girl shuttered emphatically and pulled her heavy cloak around her shoulders tighter, for the roaring fire did little to warm the bones of her depression.

  “I’m going to use a spell I acquired many years back to retrace gran’s steps from tonight.” Larae revealed.

  “Will you be able to see their face?” Fey inquired, not able to shake the feeling of total despair. She couldn’t believe she’d somehow blocked the memory of what really happened. Shaking her head, she tried to make herself believe that shock was to blame.

  “Yes, I should. Then, we can get down to the business of finding them,” Larae informed her while turning away and starting for the stairs. Her hands were in the air ready to defend herself. An extra precaution she always took. Always assume the intruder might still be around.

  CHAPTER 7

  More To Life Than Magic

  Fey decided she wanted nothing more than to see the face of her gran’s killer. Assuming that doing so would mean that she might make heads or tails of the horrifying event. Even if it was just a glimpse and not a whole face she got for trying. She suddenly felt obligated to make a move, rather than remaining in her safe, warm armchair. She needed to jog her memory, but was it possible? She owed it to her grandmother to try. She was the only person who would have done the same for Fey. Getting to her feet she thought, it’s not right that I can’t remember. Something’s off about this.

  The girl climbed the staircase, tip-toeing the whole way up as she timidly bit down on her lower lip. She took extra precaution not to make a single creak in the boards, since many of them were prone to alerting nearby ears. The girl knew the old house well enough to be able to sneak around efficiently without being caught. Having learned to become quite vivacious with her sneaking skills, Fey excelled in slipping through the cracks. There was a boy, a spirited wizard from her youth, that Fey used to break out late at night to see. Gran never knew she’d ever been gone, because she was so nimble and light on her feet. Much like her familiar Hex the cat.

  Oh, the simple days, she reminisced dejectedly. Before long she fell deep in thought of old reveries, remembering how easily she swooned for a boy called Charles. He was one of the most intelligent wizards of their age and absolutely lavishing. What she wouldn’t give to stare back into those delicious indigo eyes of his. Of course, now, she no longer felt the same way as she did when she was a mere girl of fourteen. The relationship she longed for never lasted and they’d broken up because Charles had feelings for another witch at the academy. They hadn’t spoken in a few years, though whenever he found out Fey was the frontrunner to be the next Matron, he all but threw himself at her feet, begging for her hand in marriage. Still, the girl couldn’t help the warmth that began to grow between her legs, resulting in her pressing her thighs together as hard as she could.

  It wasn’t the time for perversions, and the fury that threatened to escape from her uncharted depths was abated for the time being. Frustration ran through her like hot knives. She hadn’t had a boyfriend in nearly six months. What was she? Damaged goods?

  “He thought I was a petty, spoiled, little girl. I knew what he was after, and he wasn’t going to get it,” she growled to herself as the anger began surging through her veins. Her pallid, green eyes scorched to a fiery red, nearly giving her the appearance of a mad woman. She took a breath, remembering she needed to be stealthy and fanned her neck, trying to calm the anger welling up within.

  Sometimes Fey’s resentment got the better of her and she ended up doing things she’d rather not do. Without a sound, she rounded the top of the stairs and broke for her room to the right, directly opposite of where Larae would be. Luckily, the door she came to rest in front of was already open with the light turned out. She raced inside and almost closed the door, leaving a small crack open to see what her cousin was up to in the adjacent room. Larae had left gran’s door open, thinking Fey was still downstairs. Her cousin’s hands were held to her chest in an upward position, ready to conjure the relay spell. The girl surveyed Larae’s spiny hands and listened as she spoke muffled words that she could not make out. The only thing she was sure of, was that it wasn’t Latin.

  She knew the Latin dialect like the back of her hand; what Larae was speaking was a forgotten language. As she chanted the words of the incantation, small ripples of magic formed around her body, creating a small wave of energy that pulsed throughout the room. The oscillating influx of power vibrated with virility, and illuminated Larae’s slender body. The young witch got a good glimpse of her body’s visage and instantly wished she hadn’t. Her tenuous features enhanced the middle-aged woman’s lanky hips and arms, making the girl believe she hadn’t been feeding herself regularly. Setting aside the initial shock, Fey could still see the bea
uty left in her present qualities and wondered what sort of life she was living without her family.

  As Larae commanded the last word, a colossal force burst into ripples from the center of the vibration, smacking the woman squarely in the face and knocking her back a couple of feet. She came close to tipping over the bed where Aris’s body still laid silent. So not to bring attention to what was going on, Fey calmly opened the door to her room. When she was satisfied that Larae hadn’t seen her, she walked out, passing gran’s door and peering inside as her shoe touched the flight of the stairs. An emerging dark figure, just like the one she’d seen before, told Fey that her cousin’s spell had been a success. Wait a minute, she thought abruptly, how did I know that?

  The girl had no time to lose, setting eyes on the ominous spirit, she tailed its every move inside the small room, hoping for an answer as to who killed her sweet grandmother. The large, ghastly shadow hovered above Aris’s bed, voraciously stealing her soul as it made an awful slurping sound with each inhalation of her grandmother’s essence. Just as it had before. She narrowed her leery eyes, locking them in on the area that was appropriating Aris’s soul. She couldn’t see anything but the obscuring blackness of the shadow. As if it were being dissolved, a white face unfurled through the murky darkness. Startled, Fey hurled herself backward, nearly sending herself to the bottom of the staircase. Just before she stumbled down the first set of steps, she bounced on her heels and came to a well-placed stop.

  She was only able to see the foggy face for a brief time before it disappeared into thin air. The white face possessed ruby red eyes that pierced the deepest reaches of her soul. The deep vexing glare pulled her attention away, gravitating whispers of answers that she felt she needed. If only she could break away. Remembering this was only a spell, Fey turned toward Larae, whose expression quickly changed from anticipation to satisfaction. What’s she so happy about, Fey wondered, remaining confused. Hastening her stride down the staggering steps, she was as soundless as a mouse with perfect finesse. Eventually though, her concentration was broken, and her mind became distracted once again, causing her to slip down the last step.

  Tumbling across the living room floor, Fey narrowly missed her grandmother’s ceramic vase that sat atop the end table just outside the foyer. On the way down, she hit her arm in several places on the hardwood with great force and braced herself for the bad fall that was about to come. Right before hitting her head against a leg of the kitchen table, Fey whispered, “Fluito (float),” and her body suspended mere inches from the grainy surface of the floor. The charm on her necklace barely touched the ground below as she hung mid-air. To her demise, she realized that Larae was already out of her gran’s room, staring down at her with bug eyes as if to say, you can’t do anything right!

  “Should I be alarmed?” Her cousin questioned, madly considering the girl’s actions. It was clear the woman thought the girl was a foolish brat who knew nothing of the world.

  “I was going to come up, but I tripped down the stairs—and barely caught myself!” Fey timidly answered as she brushed off her dress where many of Hex hairs had hitched a ride. Larae’s eyes thinned, reminding the girl of a slithering serpent in the grass. She knew what was going on, she was dissecting the girl’s words, checking for any holes that might be present.

  “You should be more careful, girl. Great things are expected of you, I pray I don’t have to remind you of that.” Larae stated crassly.

  Her cousin descended the stairs holding up the front of her heavy black dress as a pair of pale, bruised legs surfaced, giving Fey an eyeful of evidence from the deviant acts that she had been a part of that evening. What happened to her? Larae pulled up one long leg at a time, showing off the intricate gladiator sandals that reached up to her lower thighs. Fey could see patches of dirt and mud caked at the bottom of them as if she’d been traipsing through a field. Walking, were we, Fey gathered.

  Larae was known for never going anywhere without her broom or her henchmen. Now, she’s tracking mud in my house? The evidence was stacking up against her and Fey wasn’t comfortable with the ideas swimming around in her head.

  “I’ll be more careful; I just had a slip up. My mind is cloudy and I’m not feeling well.” She quickly made up an explanation to evade a bombardment of questions. It seemed that Larae hadn’t caught her spying.

  “You’d do well to get some rest. Will you be all right here? Or, would you like for me to take you in?” The older witch had completely changed her tune, and seemed much more interested in harboring the girl.

  “I’m not sure. What’re they going to do with Gran?” Fey pried as the tears began to build in the corner of her eyes for the hundredth time that day.

  “That’s right, I need to call the others. Thank you for reminding me.” Her cousin snapped her fingers and with a crack of green magic, a silver-plated mirror appeared in front of the witch’s face. Inside, was the image of a warlock, whose dark bushy eyebrows bore down at the sight of Larae. “My lady?” John Blanchard greeted with a gruff voice that let on to his actual age.

  “Send in Allister to clean up Aris Westfall’s manor. She has passed. You can find her body upstairs in the first room to the left. I’ll give you further instructions in the morning. You know the drill, clean and prepare her body for burial.” Larae didn’t waste time in waiting for a response. She snapped her fingers again, this time, the mirror disappeared in a cloud of green vapor.

  “We will give her a proper burial, one fit for a Matron. Never you mind, dear. She deserves nothing but the best, and I’ll see to it that the arrangements are taken care of. You needn’t worry about a thing,” Larae declared with a motherly tone that seemed so alien coming out, it must have bothered her inwardly.

  She cocked her head and fastened one nectar glazed eye on Fey, looking her up-and-down from her head to her toes. She didn’t seem too impressed by what she saw in the girl, but then again, it took a lot to stir any sort of feeling out of the old prude most days. It’s not like I care anyway, Fey decided.

  “Besides, you have your Trials to attend next week. We can’t have you in a distressed state with Edelweiss Pines counting on your protection. We need not burden you, for fear of sending you over the edge. We already know how well that’ll play out.” Larae’s words perforated the young witch’s ears, forcing her to remember she had to face the Trials without her grandmother there to be her guide.

  Pushing all thoughts aside, she cordially nodded, giving in to her cousin’s offer to take care of the necessities. The job was better suited for an adult anyway. She had no idea where to even begin.

  “Yes, I suppose I’ll need to continue with my studies. I’ll need to be close by wherever I go,” she added.

  “I have a special place that I can channel my power’s energy efficiently.” The girl paused as she contemplated a way to get out of staying with Larae.

  “Do you think I could stay at the Inn in town? I don’t want to sleep here anymore. Not with what’s happened.” Her cousin glanced down at the burgundy rug beneath her feet and brushed a toe across the carpet, watching as the fabric grew darker when combed to the left side, but blended back in when brushed to the right.

  “Okay, I’ll set that up, too. Just focus on you right now. I don’t want any distractions. Understood?” Her cousin snarled with a bitter lashing tongue, hinting at the idea of boys being on her mind.

  Fey assumed she had hurt her feelings for not mentioning to stay at her home instead, but what did she expect? “Of course, if you think I’d be better suited staying with you, I can always do that,” she proposed, feeling the tension rising in the room.

  “No, you’re right. We must focus on you, as I mentioned before. If you think sticking to town will continue your powers’ expansion, then we will get you a room over at the Inn. Just give me a few moments and I’ll have that arranged.”

  Fey couldn’t tell if Larae was being genuine with her feelings, since she was a tough book to judge by her off-putting cover.
One minute, Larae would be fine and the next—she would jump down your throat, and that characteristic would ward any respectable person to draw back.

  Fey dismissed her cousin’s issues as malicious and rooted them to underlying social awkwardness. Larae needed someone to help ease her back into society, as she hadn’t been a part of the community since they took her title away. It was a demeaning thing to have happen to someone who had just gained the rank of Supreme Ruler, but the girl didn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. In her shoes, she would do the same. Keeping herself from society was her cousin’s way of shielding the world from the hateful beast called jealousy that filled her heart. Otherwise, she’d be a loose cannon.

  Who would want that?

  CHAPTER 8

  Henchmen

  Pretending to be pressed for time, Larae slipped out onto the front porch without much of an excuse. She mentioned something about making reservations, as she closed the door on her cousin. The frost of the gloomy night stalled the witch’s breath in her resilient lungs, forcing a cough out of her tickled throat. She took up each side of the red wool cloak that clung to her shoulders and wrapped them around her body snugly like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Larae made sure to cover her face as much as possible with the collar. Though she may have had a good reason to be at the Westfall home, she didn’t want it getting around that she was there at this time.

  That would look too suspicious—and the town would surely talk.

  “I should have brought a heavier coat,” she uttered huskily, cursing the air of the wintry night.

  She hailed her broom with a soft whistle and jumped aboard when it floated next to her hip, quickly wrapping one leg over the other before covering her exposed legs. After all, she was still a lady. Willing her broom to head for the woods, Larae pulled on the satin glove off her left hand and turned her palm up. Without delay she spoke into it with a deep voice, calling on her power to fuel a Fire Chat. A green flame burned from the palm of her numb hand, and as the fire intensified with each word she chanted, it reached a brilliant neon green. Undeniably, a very stunning sight to see.