Dark Illusions

by D. D. Miers

  We were outnumbered. Reagan scrambled to her feet, fetched her blade, and joined me.

  Back to back, we fought.

  The magic ebbed while fear crept over me. The hounds were crafty and played us like the predators they were. One would draw an attack and the other would rush unguarded sides.

  “Fuck you!” I yelled at all of them.

  I heard a chuckle. Low, thrumming in my ear. Then it echoed around me.

  We weren’t alone here.

  “The Faedus,” Reagan said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Run, Abby.”

  The evil laugh, the baying of the ice hounds, my lost magic filled me with the uselessness of fighting. Why run?

  My leg bled hot blood in a cascade to the cavern floor, and it throbbed with pain.

  Marks from a bite covered my right arm.

  My sword was heavy, and my knees buckled under me as my adrenaline ebbed.

  Kieron’s voice filled my mind, his eyes, his touch.

  My vision flickered, images and memories that were mine and not mine, shuffled like a broken movie reel.

  I had to maintain control. I had to—

  I heard Reagan cry out in pain, but it sounded like miles away.

  We had failed.

  We hadn’t reached Kieron.

  Reagan and I were surrounded.

  The Faedus had appeared.

  I tried to summon the magic again. How had it been so easy before? All I had to do was think what I wanted to happen, and it did.

  With the sizzle of an about to exploded firework A bright flash of green light flared with the sizzle of an about-to-explode firework. It grew larger and brighter. It was too late before I realized it came straight at me.

  I lifted my hands to shield against it and tried in vain to summon my own spell.

  Reagan grabbed my shoulder and propelled me back toward the entrance and even my befuddled brain registered that the ice hounds hung back, probably waiting for us to fall to make their final kills.

  Narrow crevices broke up the floor of the cavern, turning it into an obstacle course for survival. One wrong move, one wrong turn, and I’d free fall into the icy abyss below.

  My fingernails scraped against the jagged stone walls, drawing blood. I crouched down to keep myself as close to the wall as possible. I’d come a long way since this all began but I’m not as confident as Reagan. Her precise and determined movements were those of a woman who fought a thousand enemies and lived to tell.

  We rounded one last winding corner and barely cleared the last fissure. When we finally reached the other side, my back ached, and the blade on my hip had scored through my pants and into the flesh of my thigh. But there no time for wallowing in the pain.

  A sharp howl, not far in the distance, halted Reagan’s pace. The horrendous and cruel baying of ice hounds promising death split the air. The hairs on my arms rose as a trickle of panic skated up my spine.

  We turned into another tunnel angled. A foul, strange odor wafted through, making the air rancid and bitter. An abhorrent sulfuric stench filled my nose as we entered a minute cave. From Reagan’s hands, a white glow formed in the air in front of her, until it grew enough to light the surrounding area. Black mold covered the stone walls layered over with a thick, icy blanket. The cellar-like room held a little table, a cot, and some shelves with limited supplies.

  “Something’s wrong.” The tone of Reagan’s voice was undeniable. Fear. “Damn it! She moved about the room, placing her hands along the walls and pressing. “If it wasn’t in the main cavern, the portal should be right here.” She drew her blade from its scabbard. An orange glow hovered around it. “Something’s changed. The portal should have been here!”

  She glanced over her shoulder, quickly avoiding my eyes, but I only needed that instant to know we were in much bigger trouble than before. Tension hid behind her steady words.

  Reagan was afraid—and her fear ignited a panic inside of me.

  She stood motionless with her back to me as she stared off into the black walls.

  “What do you—” Another howl yowl roared inside, closer this time.

  Reagan scanned the room, her head snapping franticly in every direction. I tried to help, my body moving left to right, seeking any way out. I rushed toward the walls, scraping the moldy frost with my blade as I struggled to find a doorway. A jolt from behind stopped me. Reagan’s hand gripped my bicep and dragged me backward. I didn’t even have time to protest before she threw me into a narrow opening that appeared to be a jagged crack in the stone. It was no bigger than a broom closet.

  “Reagan! What the hell?”

  The force of the movement propelled my entire body flat onto the dirty floor. My sword flew from my hand, skidding to the dark edges of the room. Before I could even gauge my situation, shadows surrounded me.

  “Reagan! Dammit, answer me!”

  I regained my footing and shoved hard against the wall, rubbing my hands over the rough, uneven stone for a handle.

  “Reagan!” I pounded repeatedly, anxious and on the verge of hysteria. “Reagan, what are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, my cries were met with a loud scraping, followed by chanting, then silence.

  She had sealed the fissure shut—with only me inside.

  My heart beat wildly as I realized Reagan wasn’t coming with me. Not this time. My choices, my actions, had secured her doom.

  Every phase of grief struck me at once. I punched the wall, the flesh on my knuckles breaking wide open as hot blood trickled between my fingers. “You stupid . . . stupid, stubborn bitch, Reagan.” Tears streamed down my face in a steady flow.

  Reagan, closer than a sister, who shared everything with me from the silly parts of our everyday lives to the discovery of both our secrets. The only person who’d chosen me, and chosen to love me, was about to be taken away from me forever.

  “Reagan, no. Please.” I rested my forehead against the wall. “Let me out. I can help you.”

  The sound of stone grinding against stone broke the silence. I held my breath, hoping Reagan had changed her mind. A thin stream of light poured through a break in the wall and Reagan reached inside. When she finally found my arm, she gripped my hand, placing our palms upward, facing one another.

  “I don’t know how long you have—how long this will last. Best case several days, worst case only hours.”

  From the way she spoke, I wasn’t sure if she was talking about me or herself. Gradually, the skin between us warmed as a light formed out from her hand, then shifted into the air before traveling into my very soul.

  “Stay here until it’s over. No matter what happens next, don’t make a sound. Once they’ve gone, you have to move as quickly as possible. Is that clear?”

  “Reagan, I can help you. Don’t do this.”

  “No, Abby.”

  “I’m not weak. I can fight them with you. Please!”

  “I know, babe. But this isn’t about proving yourself. This is about the greater good. I don’t know what happens next, but you must survive.” She pushed her hand farther in, placing her palm in mine. “At all costs.”

  I hated myself.

  Hated destiny.

  Hated life.

  “Reagan, I can’t do this without you.”

  She squeezed my hand. The finality of it all caused my breath to come in short, panicky gasps.

  “Stay safe, Abby,” she whispered before she quickly shoved me back to the ground.

  I scrambled onto my feet and reached the opening, only to hear the last of Reagan’s chant. The stone shifted into place and only darkness and silence remained.

  I had failed.

  I just killed my best friend.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I pummeled the cave wall until my fists ached and there were smears of blood.

  I screamed, yelled, and bellowed until my voice went hoarse. I didn’t know if minutes or hours passed as I pressed my face pressed against the dirty, uneven rock.

 
Not again, not another failure on my part that cost someone else their life. I fought against its reality. I left my best friend alone to die. Oh, dear lord, Reagan was dead. And Kieron wasn’t there to save either of us.

  The stone grated along the wall and when it opened I expected to see a familiar face, but instead I was met with nothing. The center of the room glowed green and a black mist rose from the floor and spiraled up toward the ceiling.

  A hooded man stepped from the shadows, and two other faceless figures swarmed me within the tiny cavernous room. I thrashed, trying to get out of the grip of the creatures who held me, as the shadow man stalked forward.

  “There, there, Abby,” When he removed his hood, Terrak stood before me. I couldn’t believe Yasinda’s top henchman was still alive. “We’re going to make you all better.”

  “Where is Reagan?”

  “Gone. And she has you to thank for that.”

  “No!” I hissed. I struggled again

  A sharp object hit my head, and I lost my balance

  .I tried to sweep a leg to his side but it was a clumsy and ineffective as if I hadn’t done this a hundred times. He held me fast and looked down at me with blank disregard as if I were a bug he should put out of misery. Something hot oozed down from my hair, and I dabbed at it.

  Blood.

  My blood.

  “You should’ve died when you had the chance.” Terrak chuckled to himself as my body swayed, and the dark cavern disappeared as my mind became a black void.

  “Wake up, Abigail.”

  I knew that voice and yet it was strange. Distant.

  I opened my eyes and stared around the room. The ceilings were so tall I couldn’t see their end. They were lost in black shadows. The closed windows were covered in thin, white blinds. The wall was painted a sickly pale green, and I smelled ammonia.

  I attempted to raise my arms, but something blocked my movements. Bindings strapped me down. A sterile white light blinded my view overhead.

  “Hello, Abigail.”

  A figure appeared in the doorframe, tall and ominous. As he stepped through the threshold, I saw his eyes, the same as mine. My father. He was dead. How was he here?

  He stepped farther into the room.

  There were three empty beds in the room besides mine, with straps like mine and indentations on the mattress as if they had just been filled moments before.

  “How? How are you here?”

  “Abigail, stay calm,” he said, picking up a white, plastic clipboard that hung from the foot of my metal bed. He flipped the top two pages, and his eyes scanned something on the third.

  “You’ve had a psychotic break,” he said, eventually, closing the papers and staring down at me with a pitying look.

  No.

  “You’ve been here for the last five days.”

  No. Oh my god.

  There was a constant, loud tick tock from the clock over the door. The hour hand moved faster than the second hand. It swirled around the clock face, its ticking filling my mind, echoing in the deep recesses of my thoughts.

  I lurched back as Dr. Stevens, the sick bastard from my time at the Gordon House, walked through the door, the terrifying monster of a man who’d “treated” me when I was eleven. The only man who’d been able to destroy me, break me far enough to give me control over my mind. Enough control to stop my sight. Wait. Now I was in the Gordon house.

  I kicked my legs. This wasn’t real. I knew what was real.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’re not well.”

  No. No.

  “Where is Reagan? Kieron? Dorian? Where did everyone go? What happened?”

  I strained to think back to what I could remember. Where had we been? What had we been doing? It was like staring at my own reflection in a foggy mirror. I could almost make it out, but something was . . . off.

  “Everything you’ve been through was in your mind, Abigail.”

  “No! I know what I saw.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t.”

  “I can do magic. I’m the Keeper and my father, he’s—he’s dead.”

  Dr Steven’s tilted his head, “My dear, this is simply a dark illusion brought about by your psychotic break. The first step in your healing process is for you to talk.”

  But then something flashed in his eyes and he morphed between who he was pretending to be and someone else entirely. For a moment, my hope flared again.

  My head was filled with a haze. I couldn’t see straight. Did they drug me? Was this an after-effect of the magic?

  “Let me go,” I say through gritted teeth. “You can’t keep me here.”

  My father shook his head, a look I knew all too well.

  “Reagan!” I screamed for my friend so loud my ears rang. I flailed with all my might against the restraints. “Reagan!”

  “Who is Reagan?”

  Tears fell down my cheeks, their ribbons hot and salty on the edge of my lips.

  The doorway was dark and filled with shadows and I saw no escape—no hope. The only light came from the room where I was strapped in, blaring down at me from above my head.

  “Sweetheart,” my father said, but I couldn’t bear to hear his voice.

  “No!” I screamed, my outburst pushing him back across the room. “You’re dead! You died . . . and you don’t call me that. You never have. You are not my father.”

  I went slack against the bed. The restraints were too tight.

  Voices drifted in from the hallway. My heart pounded a warning in my chest. Who else lurked beyond the walls?

  “Now that you’re awake, we’ll need to start some treatments.”

  My wide eyes snapped back to Dr. Stevens in utter horror. I had to get away, I couldn’t let him near me. I couldn’t let him break me like before.

  He produced a wicked-looking utensil from inside his doctor’s coat, and I shrank away from it.

  Like a ravenous animal I thrashed, the bed’s support creaking beneath my violent attempt at escape. It screeched against the dirty tile floor, moving with my weight as it desperately lurched away.

  “Abigail, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

  Hands were on me, shoving my limbs down as I fought back with what little strength I had.

  “You’re ill, it isn’t your fault.”

  Who was speaking? My father or Dr. Stevens? I didn’t care. I knew better. I knew the truth and they were all against me.

  “Stop! Don’t touch me!”

  He reached across me and I did the only thing I could think to do. My teeth sank into the flesh of his arm.

  Iron tinged the tip of my tongue as the weight of three men shoved me down simultaneously. Hot wetness spurted into my mouth, making me gag. My screams were shrill and sharp, taunting my ears with a dull pain as my worst nightmares became my reality.

  Was I actually going insane? Was it possible that I wasn’t making this up in my mind? Could it be true that Reagan, Kieron, Luca, and Marcus . . . were they all figments of my own imagination?

  I saw my dad’s eyes, their depths filled with pity. Dr. Stevens jabbed me with a needle large enough to kill.

  “Abigail, it’ll be all right.”

  No, it won’t be! Something deep within me cried and lashed out. This isn’t real! Abby, take control of yourself! You can do it! Fight it!

  “Rest now.”

  I didn’t want to rest, but there was no escaping the encroaching darkness and sleep.

  My lips moved in protest, the sounds coming out no more coherent than an infant’s gurgle. I searched for my father, but he was gone. He’d abandoned me.

  Dr. Stevens smiled at me with a wicked curl of his lips.

  “Sleep, Abigail. Sleep and later we will talk.”

  I shook in fear.

  When I first woke up, my lungs burned like I’d breathed fire, and my limbs refused to move.

  The restraints. It had to be the restraints.

  But the straps had been removed. I had freedom.

  Immediatel
y I sat up, my head swimming as I grasped the bed for solid support. All around me the room spun.

  “Hello?”

  I held my breath, certain someone would come running to knock me down again, but no one came.

  The room was dimly lit. A small counter sat against one wall, with a few cabinets overhead. I stumbled over to them, pulling them open, looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon.

  All I found were cotton swabs and gauze bandages.

  I sighed, closing the cabinet doors, surveying the room again.

  The bed I had been strapped in was a rusted metal, and bile rose in the back of my throat. Everything smelled sterile, but nothing looked new or clean

  I pushed myself off the counters, straightening myself, every step a tortuous struggle to remain upright. But I could walk. I slipped out the door and fought against the bright lights in the hallway.

  Everything was eerily quiet. I’d half-expected to get pounced on the moment I stepped out, but no one was in sight. But, if it wasn’t real, if this wasn’t really happening, then where was I?

  I crept down the sterile white corridor, my hands cupping my view into the narrow window upon every door I passed.

  Empty. Each room I went by was empty. I couldn’t be the only one here! There were tons of beds. Blankets and dressing gowns were folded on each one, as if waiting for new recipients.

  I rushed with a frantic speed, checking every door I could find until several pairs of hands grabbed at me, their fight a tortuous one as I fought to keep free of them. There were pairs of hands all over me, pulling me down the hall. I held on, biting through the pain.

  Muscle memory trained into me by Reagan and Kieron coiled through me, and my muscles were ready to lash out at my attackers. I could do this. I knew how to fight against multiple attackers. Reagan, Marcus, Luca, and Kieron’s lessons were not wasted. My demeanor changed and I become a force unto myself.