Darkness Fair (The Dark Cycle Book 2)

by Marks, Rachel A.

  “Eighties, maybe? I’m not sure. But the spirit guy, the shadow, he died alone in this house in the forties. He’d keep his victims in the room below.” He points at the trapdoor opening. The nursery. “And then, after he . . . killed,” he swallows, his eyes pained, “he’d bring the victims up here to hide their bodies until he could find a place to bury them. He died before he could bury this girl.” He looks at the cupboard. “It was a heart attack while he was watching TV.”

  “The doll was the anchor, then. I wonder how it got out.” A simple possessed doll would’ve been so much easier; burn the doll and sprinkle lavender on the fire, catching the smoke in a jar with a pentagram on the lid, then bury the damn thing as deep as you can. Now the wraith is attached to the whole freaking house. Can’t exactly burn that. “I’ll have to just try and kill it.”

  “I wish that I could gut the bastard myself.”

  “Hopefully I can.” I pick up the doll and put it back into the cupboard. “But you might not want to be here for this.”

  “I’m not leaving you to do this alone. What first?”

  “I’m thinking that—”

  But my words, my plans, are cut short as the temperature drops in a rush and Connor flies back, lifted up and tossed into the far corner of the attic. An avalanche of boxes and furniture falls on him.

  I start to lunge for him. “Connor!”

  Before I can move more than a foot, I’m shoved toward the trapdoor. I stumble, arm smacking the wood floor with a crack before I tumble through the hole. I land hard, feeling something snap as I hit the ground, my leg twisting at an odd angle. My head bounces off the floor and everything throbs, spins, my vision blurring.

  A growl comes from behind the dresser to my left. A shadowy form moves along the wall in a thick black mass, red eyes keyed on me.

  I try to scramble away but my limbs don’t cooperate; my leg screams with a deep throb. I’m sure it’s broken. And my arm maybe, too.

  The shadow takes form, the shape of a man, all swirling darkness and bloody eyes. It crawls along the wall, gravity not a problem. Its body is made of smoke and shadow, wispy threads of black trailing from it. “You come to kill,” it says in a gravely voice.

  Shivers race over me and I begin to feel myself heal, the bone in my leg fusing together again painfully. I bite the ache back and focus on the wraith, the wicked spirit of a man who should be in the pit of Sheol, being tormented for all eternity, not here creating hell for an innocent family.

  “Time for you to leave,” I say.

  Its shape is almost complete now, a middle-aged man, balding. He’d look pretty harmless, if I didn’t know any better.

  “No more,” I say. “No more tormenting this place or the people in it.”

  “You have no power here,” he says. “Your misplaced life belongs to the demon realms. This is the realm of the dead. And I know who you are.”

  I stare at the man, trying to remind myself that this isn’t a demon, even though he’s acting like one, with all those threats and lies. But he’s human. He has the weaknesses of a human, even if he’s become twisted into a wraith.

  He growls as he slinks down to all fours again, now eye level with me. His irises turn blue then back to a deep, bloody red. “I am king here. I am God. And your sister isn’t going to save you this time.”

  My body goes cold. My sister? It can’t know her. Can it? “I won’t listen to your lies,” I say.

  He rumbles out a low, scraping laugh. “We call her the white witch, little innocent bird that she is. Ava bird. I haven’t been allowed to touch her yet—her captors are strong and keep their watch. But I see her. I know her connection to this terra, to you . . . sssseer.”

  Everything in me shakes. How can this thing know about Ava? How? Is her soul close? Could it really be that she hasn’t been in Sheol this whole time? She’s been here, just on the other side of the Veil? I can’t help asking, “Who are these captors?”

  “Bright Ones hold her,” he says, his voice changing pitch oddly, now high and childlike. “They chained her up because they fear the little bird she is. Wise to fear the little bird.”

  Hope filters into my bones, realizing he means angels hold her soul. Bright Ones must be angels. “If you tell me where she is, I won’t kill you,” I say, realizing I can move my fingers, my toes; my bones are healed, or near enough. But I stay bent and awkward.

  The wraith moves closer, his red eyes hollowing out into deep, bottomless pits. “Promisssssse?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stares at me with those hollow eyes. Then he opens his mouth wide.

  And a spider crawls out.

  My stomach rises as it skitters over his chin, then slides down on a silver web, landing to make its way across the floor to me. “My secrets,” he says, watching the spider crawl up my arm to my shoulder. “My secrets hide down deep, seer. My secrets wove me back together after you and your friend tried to destroy me.”

  Terror creeps up my skin with the arachnid’s prickly legs, and the air freezes to ice shards in my lungs. I want to get away, get it off me, to smash my palm on the thing—the secret—but I need to know. I have to know where Ava is.

  The creature makes it to my ear and the wraith man looks on with his fathomless eyes, a slow smile creeping up his pale features. And then the spider bites me just at the base of the skull, behind the ear.

  A surge of white-hot fire spills into me, blinding me, fighting to take me over. Until my power easily pushes it back. And all that’s left is awareness.

  I know. I know where Ava’s soul is.

  I blink away the throbbing pain of the bite as the remains of the spider fall like dust down my chest. “Thank you,” I say to the wraith. And then I reach out, grabbing him by the neck as I let my power loose with a surge of air and heat, pulling out my dagger with my other hand. I raise the blade and plunge it into the dark man’s soul.

  His eyes widen in terror and shock. “You promissssed,” he gasps, “I am king here.”

  “I lied.” And then I push my power out hard, as hard as I can manage, praying it’ll destroy the wraith for real this time.

  The gold light washes into the shadow as its scream fills the room, shaking my bones, until the dark wraith breaks apart into nothing, ceasing to exist at all. No ash remains, no smoke. The webs covering the room around me puff into nothing, the air taking on the scent of pine instead of death. I look around me and feel like it’s not enough. This man’s soul should’ve been eviscerated, boiled, burned over and over, for what he did to those kids. Without mercy, without relief. Agony should be his fate for eternity.

  At least this time, even his secrets can’t bring him back.

  “Connor!” I yell up into the attic. “Are you okay?”

  A grunt. “I got my leg stuck when I landed. If you’re done killing that bastard I could use a little help.”

  I climb up and stick my head into the opening.

  He points at his leg, which is hidden under a piece of furniture. “A bookshelf or something,” he says. “Can’t budge it on my own.”

  I crawl the rest of the way in and help him get unstuck. His leg is pretty banged up and bleeding, but he doesn’t complain. “Let’s get this shit cleaned up and get the hell out of this crazy place,” he says. “You better have killed that thing good, because after what I saw in that fucking doll, I’m not planning on ever setting foot in this house again.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Rebecca

  Apple is making me nuts. She’s been texting me every half hour since yesterday.

  Did you lick his abs yet? Yum.

  Time to cash in the V-card, Em.

  If you don’t want him, I’ll take him.

  And on. And on. And on. But everything with Connor became a distant memory after all the stuff at Miss Mae’s. I finally shove my phone between my mattresses so I don’t have to hear the vibration that accompanies each inane comment. Then I try and keep myself busy so I can stop thinking about everything th
at happened last night, and what it might mean. Once we left Miss Mae’s place, Kara refused to talk about any of it. I was at a loss for words, too, so I wasn’t surprised. I just wish there was something more I could do to help. For Aidan’s sake. If Kara dies, it could destroy him.

  I try to keep myself busy, but I can’t seem to muffle the ache in my chest from all the worry. I spend time in the office, writing down the messages from the geriatric answering machine; I bring Sid tea for his aching bones—that shed smells like moldy bread and feet. I watch Finger play Xbox and I take a quiz in Vogue regarding my “preferred first date” and what that might mean on a deeper level. I even do the dishes.

  I am officially losing my mind with anxiety. I actually tried talking to Sid when I brought him the tea, but he grumbled a thank-you and then leaned back against the shed wall and closed his eyes, obviously in a lot of pain. Maybe I should find a way to go back and see Miss Mae, ask her again whether there’s anything I can do.

  Of course, according to Connor, I shouldn’t leave the house at all. He’s been gone since early this morning, out on an important job. When I saw him, briefly, it was clear he didn’t know about last night. He’d be furious if he did.

  Kara stays in the office most of the day, watching hours and hours of video and listening to audio files she calls EMPs or something. She’s trying to keep moving, to distract herself, like I am. I get it. But I kind of wish she’d talk to me about everything.

  I’m relieved when I see her come to the surface again. She wanders through the entry and into the kitchen, fills a glass of water at the filtered tap, and then shuffles over to sit at the table. After staring off into no-man’s-land for about five minutes, she slowly lowers her forehead to the table.

  I pretend to be looking for salad fixings in the fridge before I say anything. (The choices are wilted lettuce or droopy lettuce.)

  “Are you feeling all right, Kara?” I finally ask.

  She grunts in response.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be doing so much.”

  “Whatever, Mother,” she mutters.

  “Is the job you’re working on important? Maybe I can help.”

  She sits up and squints at me. “You are hilarious.”

  “I’m not completely useless. Anyway, what’s so hard about sitting and listening to EMPs all day long?”

  She tightens her lips together, trying to hide a smile but failing.

  “What?”

  “They’re called EVPs; Electronic Voice Phenomena.”

  I sigh and plop down in the chair across the table. “I’m so stressed about all this mess with you and me. I need something to do. Something besides the dishes. And I can only make Sid so much tea before he floats away.”

  She laughs. “What do you normally do?”

  I consider the question. What do I normally do?

  Nothing. It just feels like something. But it’s not. “I shop. Or go to the Santa Monica pier and hang out.”

  “So, basically you live in the 90210 TV show.”

  I roll my eyes. That’s exactly what Connor said. “The guys are far more stuck up in my life than they are on that show.”

  “The guys, huh? You go out with a lot of guys?”

  I give her a sideways look, wondering what she’s trying to get at. “No, Kara.”

  “You know, I went to that beach party your friend threw a few weeks back. It was, um, as Holly would say, TMI with a lot of T and A.”

  I hide my face in my hands and try not to laugh. “Ugh. My friend Apple really likes to throw crazy parties.”

  “Well, it was very informative as to how the upper crust live.”

  “God, that’s sad.”

  “Learning is good.” She gives me a half smile.

  And then I remember. “But didn’t some guy hurt you or something?”

  She seems taken off guard by my personal tone. She clears her throat and looks away from me. “Yeah, well . . . it happens.”

  “But Aidan beat him up.”

  “Wish I’d had the energy to do it myself.”

  I study her—the defensive set of her chin, her fingers picking at her shirt—and I realize she’s embarrassed or intimidated or something. This tough girl doesn’t seem like she’d be intimidated by anything. But it’s obvious that she’s still not sure about me.

  After yesterday, it seems silly for there to be a wall between us. Maybe if I open up more, she’ll do the same.

  “I have a confession to make,” I say.

  Her eyes skip to mine, nervous.

  “I kissed Connor.”

  She gasps. She actually gasps. “What?!” She leans back in the chair. “What do you mean? When?” It’s like she can’t believe it. Like I just told her I saw the ghost of Elvis flying past the window.

  “I have no idea what happened,” I say, shaking my head.

  A frown replaces her smile. “You’re not going to fuck with his head, are you?”

  I laugh. “He’s too busy messing with mine.”

  “Connor?” She scrunches her face in a way that tells me she’s not buying it.

  “He kissed me and then said he shouldn’t have done it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That sounds like him.”

  “Then he kissed me again the next day and told me all this big-overture-love-theme-music stuff. I’m not sure what to think.”

  “Just don’t break him. I’ve never seen him with a girl, not for three years. I was actually beginning to wonder if he was gay.”

  “Not gay,” I say. Not if that last kiss was any indication. He melted my insides all over the cab of the Jeep. Since Kara’s more relaxed, I decide to move the conversation back to last night. “So, that Tray guy is Jax’s brother?” I ask. Seems like a safe question.

  “Yeah, half brother. They have different dads. Tray has gifts, like Jax, but he didn’t want to live here. He takes care of their mom.”

  “What’s Jax’s gift again?” I ask.

  “He reads clouds. It started out as being able to tell if there’d be rain or a drought.”

  “So, he’s like a meteorologist?” I say, kidding but also confused.

  Kara grins. “No, he predicts the possible future through reading clouds. Sid says he should be able to get signs about other things, eventually. You know, more important predictions.”

  “From the outside, he doesn’t seem like he’d be sensitive enough . . . I mean, he’s such a . . .”

  “Jackass?”

  I laugh in surprise. “I was going to say chauvinistic pig.”

  “You wouldn’t think he has depth, I know,” she says. “But he does. You just have to dig a little.”

  “His brother seems nice.”

  She gives me a coy look. “Oh yeah? Is Connor going to have competition?”

  “Oh, sheesh. I think I have enough going on with this love triangle or square or whatever. We don’t need to make it an octagon.”

  “I think that would be a pentagon if Tray joined the party.”

  “God, help us—”

  A throat clears and both of us turn to see Finger standing in the archway, watching us. Smiling.

  I gulp in surprise.

  “Hey, Finger,” Kara says, not sounding the least bit worried. “Did you need something?”

  He just blinks at us and smiles. Then he turns and walks away, disappearing into a closet under the stairs like Harry Potter.

  “Who is that guy?” I ask, staring at the closet door as it closes behind him.

  “Finger.” She laughs like my question is funny.

  “But what does he do?”

  “Sid said he was important, but I have no idea. He just stays out of the way.”

  “And never speaks. No one sees this as weird?”

  “Finger has his own way. I guess you get used to it.”

  He seems nice enough, but the sneaky thing . . . and the random smiles. So weird.

  I turn back to Kara. And freeze.

  A bloody tear is sliding down her left ch
eek. “Kara,” I whisper.

  She doesn’t even notice it. “What’s wrong?” The other eye pools pink, and a thick red drop falls from the corner.

  “Your eyes, they’re—”

  Her jaw goes tight as she realizes what I’m saying. Her hand swipes at her cheek. She looks at her bloodstained palm. “It’s happening again.” Her voice is cold when she says it.

  I jump up to get a rag, and by the time I turn back around she’s slumping over, then tumbling to the floor.

  “Kara!” I yell, rushing to kneel beside her. I brush the hair from her face as more blood spills from her closed eyes, the side of her mouth, and . . . oh, God, her ears. Her ears are bleeding. That can’t be good. “Kara!”

  “What’s all the yelling?” Jax’s voice comes from upstairs.

  “Jax!” I scream. “Something’s wrong with Kara!”

  Footsteps pound down the stairs, and in two seconds, Jax is sliding to the floor. “No, no, no, this was supposed to stop when the asshole left.” He touches her cheek, then scrambles up and runs out the back door, calling out for Sid.

  Once we get her in bed, Jax, Sid, and I just stand there staring, none of us sure what to do. Connor isn’t back yet from that emergency job he’s been at all day. Holly isn’t home from school. Not that either of them would know better than us. Should we call Aidan? No, he left his phone here. And supposedly it’s his power that’s causing this.

  “We just have to wait,” Sid says, like he’s reading my thoughts. He moves his thin, birdlike body with difficulty, over to the chair in the corner.

  “Maybe if we do a spell to break her bond with Aidan,” Jax says hopefully.

  “That’s horrible,” I say. And from what Miss Mae said, it would probably be useless.

  “There’s no such spell,” Sid says. “Not that I’ve ever heard of. In any event, spells of the heart and soul are dangerous. As we see here before us.”

  “There has to be something we can do to fix this,” Jax says through his teeth. He pounds on the wall with his fist. “Something.”

  “Maybe it just takes time,” I say. Because I can’t stand to believe that it’s too late.

  Sid shakes his head, looking doubtful, and then echoes my fear out loud. “It may be too far gone now for any help. I just wish that I understood better what’s going on.”