Dark Requiem (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 3)

by A. D. Koboah

  DARK REQUIEM

  The Darkling Trilogy

  Book 3

  By A. D. Koboah

  Copyright 2015 A.D. Koboah

  Smashwords Edition

  www.adkoboah.com

  Copyright © 2015 A. Addo

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For permission, contact the author at www.adkoboah.com

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: www.idobookcovers.com

  ISBN 13 (epub): 978-0-9573003-1-6

  ISBN 13 (paperback): 978-0-9573003-7-8

  ISBN 13 (Kindle) 978-0-9573003-3-0

  DEDICATION

  First and foremost, I want to thank God for blessing me with an imagination that has allowed me to not only escape everyday monotony, but also to take others on this journey with the creation of these novels.

  I would like to take this opportunity to thank my family and friends for their financial and moral support in getting this trilogy published.

  I also want to thank the fantastic Cynthia Boudreaux for always coming through for me and for helping to get Dark Requiem in shape. I’m still addicted to adverbs but I’m sure she’ll succeed in beating it out of me—eventually.

  Thank you to the wonderful Alicia McCalla who read an early version of the novel and helped me sort out the many problems contained within the manuscript. I’m beyond grateful.

  Last and not least, I want to thank the wonderful people who have stayed on this journey with me to the end of the trilogy and who have contacted me on Facebook, Goodreads and email to let me know they have enjoyed my novels. I appreciate you all and love waking up to read your reviews of my books (both good and bad).

  I also want to say a special thank you to Sutana as something she said in her first email helped lead me to the revelation revealed towards the end of this novel. I hope you approve, Sutana. :-)

  For my beautiful niece Alicia.

  .

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PART I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  PART II

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  PART III

  Chapter 28’

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Afterword

  Avery

  PEACE Excerpt

  PART I

  "I fear I am writing a requiem for myself."

  –Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

  Chapter 1

  New York 1996

  The being I had been waiting for first entered my world when I was five. It was on one of those hot summer afternoons in New York when the heat hung in the air like thick invisible clouds. Still the streets bustled with people, cars purring like large cats as they rolled by.

  The sunlight that washed the lively city streets in gold did not reach the heavy gloom that hung within the walls of my home. Relatives came and went. Their faces were always tense, fear lurking in the shadows behind their eyes. Whilst the sound of weeping reached me from my mother’s room along with snippets of whispered conversations.

  One of my family members had gone missing and everyone feared the worst. And in the gloom that had descended I was, as always, forgotten and simply left to the nanny.

  The nanny, Alessandra, was a short, slim girl in her early twenties who had only been working for my parents a week. She dragged me out into the wilting heat that afternoon and when we came to the entrance of a bank, I came to a stop, forcing her to face me. I pulled my hand out of hers.

  “I want ice cream. You said you were taking me to the park for ice cream.”

  The tension that reigned at home had stretched my nerves to a brittle thread, making me act up a little bit more than usual. And perhaps even then I was already aware of the Other; could already hear its sepulchral footsteps drawing ever closer.

  “Quiet!” Alessandra snapped in her heavy Italian accent. She wore thick black eye make-up and bright red lipstick. Her eyes were like black stones. “I did not tell you I was taking you to the park. I said I would think about it.”

  She took hold of my arm once more in a painful grip and dragged me with her into the cool bank.

  “Aw, that hurts. I want ice cream.” A few people were already starting to stare at us.

  “If you behave yourself, then I will take you. If you do not behave, you get no ice cream. It is hard to believe everyone at that house—from your mother to the servants—are scared of you. You are just a child and it is time everyone began treating you like one!”

  We were now by a row of seats opposite the tellers. She picked me up and sat me down.

  “Wait here!”

  “I’m not waiting.” I scrambled off the chair and stamped my foot. “I want ice cream and I want it now!”

  She leaned over me, her mouth pinched, her eyes narrowed to black slits.

  “You will sit here until I have finished my business, do you understand?”

  I felt hot, petulant anger rise and spill over in a childish flow of malice. “You’re stupid!” I said.

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “You’re stupid!” I repeated, letting a spark of something I did not understand let alone know how to control spill from my lips. “He’s married. He takes the money you send him and laughs because you’re stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

  The colour completely drained from her face until it appeared to be a white mask with slashes of heavy black eyeliner and vermillion lipstick. Her mouth twisted in anguish and her voice was little more than a ragged whisper when she spoke.

  “He’s married? What do you mean? Why did you say that?”

  I just looked up at her, having no idea where those words, the knowledge that had affected her so, came from. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back to the chair. She leaned over me. Anger, and perhaps even a little fear, passed behind her eyes like shadows beneath murky water.

  “You little brat.” Everyone in the bank was staring at us now. “You sit down and if you move from that chair, you will not have any ice cream ever again. Now sit!”

  She straightened, took a shaky breath, and moved to join the queue. She reached into her bag, her gaze completely absorbed with its contents, her face deathly white, her hands trembling.

  It was all the time I needed. I slipped off the chair and darted out of the bank doors as a young woman was entering, stepping into the warm arms of the sunlit afternoon.

  She wasn’t going to stop me getting my ice cream. Central Park was a short walk away. I moved down the street in the direction of the park.

&nb
sp; When I got there, the park—an ocean of green amidst the noisy concrete world—which had always seemed as familiar and as welcoming as my very own back yard, seemed vast and foreign. The throngs of people, distant giants to someone my size, moved to and fro in the bright sunshine. A band was playing somewhere in the distance, the jangly sounds adding to the disorientation I felt. When I entered the park I walked in the direction I believed my favourite ice cream stand to be. It was a while before I realised I did not know how to find it.

  I came to a stop then, the heat making me feel lightheaded, little streams of sweat running down my back. I turned around to try and make my way out of the park only to realise I recognised nothing which would point the way to the exit. The air around me suddenly seemed too thick and humid and my breath hitched in my throat as I struggled to draw it in. I realised that for the first time in my short life I was completely and utterly alone. Suddenly the mean nanny, who had gripped my arm so spitefully, was a sight I would have given all my dolls to see. But she was not to be found amongst the throngs of adults I could see moving through the park.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I whirled around to see a young coffee-coloured teenager in green shorts and a white T-shirt. She was focused completely on me, but her eyes were blank, as if the light behind them had been dimmed.

  “No, you’re lost. Don’t be scared, baby. You can sit with us.” She paused, then spoke as if she were reading words from a page. “Alessandra will be here in a little while.”

  Relief washed over me like a cool breeze and I nodded, reaching for the hand she held out to me.

  Then, almost like a burst of radiance lighting up an obscure, stormy sky, I felt an intense flush of emotion thrill through me. I spun around, my sixth sense tingling with an intensity that made my hands tremble.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  The words of the teenager faded away as I searched the park, not even sure of what it was I was looking for.

  And then I saw him.

  He stood with his back to me some distance away, a tall, white male dressed in jeans and a blue jacket despite the heat.

  The moment my gaze fell on him he began to move away, walking at a slow, leisurely pace. My entire world seemed to narrow to just this moment—the stranger moving steadily away from me.

  I couldn’t speak. The two girls behind me, and the noise and chaos of the park, disappeared.

  I snapped myself out of my fugue and looked around the park, frantic as the stranger moved farther away. Then I walked away from the two girls who now had identical frowns upon their brows, the dimness behind their eyes beginning to lighten like dawn breaking across a night sky. I kept my gaze on the white male as I ran in the other direction from the one he was headed in. I knew now I wasn’t that far from one of the entrances because I could hear cars roaring past. If I ran toward the road he would have to...

  He came to an abrupt stop.

  For a few moments I just stood there staring at his back, my stomach tied in knots. Knowing this would be my only chance, I ran toward him.

  I reached him and moved to stand by his side, peering up into his face.

  I had known before I saw him that he would be beautiful, but beautiful didn’t seem adequate to describe a face that was perhaps only seen in dreams or bestowed upon angels. He had a noble profile, aquiline nose and full lips. His hair was dark brown and curled just at the nape of his neck.

  I knew instantly he was not quite like the rest of us but seemed to live behind a veil in this world, not fully a part of it. And my young mind could only conceive he was an angel come to brighten my very existence with his presence. The tension, along with the pangs of dread that had followed me that day, lifted.

  I tentatively reached out and grasped his hand.

  He stared ahead for a few moments, his demeanour aloof as if he didn’t even know I was there. Then he looked down at me.

  I stared up into haunting, vivid blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes. Everything seemed to disappear, the people milling all around us as well as the wilting heat of the afternoon sunshine. The sounds of laughter drifted away along with that of the grinding traffic churning in the distance.

  All that remained was him.

  A melancholy smile touched his lips.

  “I should have known I wouldn’t be able to hide from you, Dallas.” He paused and I was breathless. Everything hung on his next words. “Come on, let’s get you that ice cream.”

  I smiled for the first time that morning and let him lead me away to the ice cream stand.

  We sat by the side of a fountain whilst I ate my cup of ice cream. My legs dangled over the side of the fountain, my expensive, shiny blue shoes gleamed in the afternoon sun. I wore jeans and a blue T-shirt and my hair was in four bunches tied at the end with blue baubles. Although it was blisteringly hot, he wore his jacket zipped up and appeared unaffected by the heat. He was also very still, watching me with sad, deep eyes whilst I talked about everything that mattered in the world of a five year old. The only time he moved was when he brought a hand up to lazily push a stray lock of hair that kept falling into his eyes, away from his face.

  When he peered into the distance and once more brought his hand up to push his hair out of his eyes, I put my ice cream down on the side of the fountain and pulled one of the bright blue baubles out of my hair. Eager to please, I stood so I could reach his hair and gather the unruly lock of hair into the bauble. I secured it and then sat back down. His eyebrows came together and he stared upward as if to peer at the bauble in his hair, his expression one of almost comic perplexity. I grinned when he gazed at me, proud of my handiwork. He gave me one of his sad smiles and handed the ice cream to me.

  “Thank you, Dallas.”

  “You’re welcome, Avery.”

  His smile widened, although it did not reach the desolation in his eyes, desolation as enduring and fluid as the water gushing from the fountain behind us.

  “I don’t recall telling you my name, Dallas.”

  “You’re Avery. We all know that. And,” I added, trying to mimic his accent and deep voice. “I don’t recall telling you my name.”

  He chuckled softly. “No, I don’t suppose you did.”

  It was a few moments before he spoke again, his voice gentle but hesitant.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened with your nanny at the bank?”

  I froze with a spoonful of ice cream halfway toward my open mouth, my eyes locked on him.

  His gaze was gentle as he peered down at me. “It is all right, Dallas.”

  I was able to breathe again and let the spoonful of ice cream continue to my open mouth. His expression grew serious, his gaze earnest as he spoke.

  “Do you understand what happened and why what you said upset Alessandra?”

  I brought the ice cream down to my lap and lowered my gaze. Tears pricked my eyes. I so desperately needed him to like me.

  “What you can do, it is a gift, one that must not be misused. It is a very big gift for a child to have, a burden in some ways. Your grandmother tried to take that burden away from you for a while, but she was not able to take all of it away. What I am trying to tell you is that you must not use it to hurt people like Alessandra, okay?”

  I nodded. He smiled at me and the moment of misery was swept away.

  He reached a hand absentmindedly toward his hair, but stopped when he remembered the hairband holding the unruly lock of hair in place. He glanced at me and a small smile touched his lips before he looked off into the distance. The smile melted away and his expression soon resembled that of someone weeping silently, completely unaware of the tears cutting a glistening trail down their cheeks. Misery welled up within at the sight of his sorrow and I spoke without knowing what it was I meant to say.

  “Luna? What’s Luna?”

  He looked at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You can read my mind, Dallas?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It just came into my head.”


  “I think you can.”

  There was another of those long, thoughtful pauses. His voice was heavy when he spoke.

  “Luna was one of your ancestors. I was thinking that she would have adored you.”

  He looked away again and suddenly appeared smaller, as if he were shrinking inside his clothes. His misery and yearning, along with pain so raw and intense, smothered me. Desperate to say something to make him feel better, I said the first thing that came to my mind.

  “She’s not dead.”

  He looked up, his attention focused entirely on me for the first time that afternoon.

  “What...what did you say?”

  His voice was low, his expression blank. I wouldn’t have known how affected he was by my words if it wasn’t for the powerful emotion I could feel rolling off him and the intensity in his haunting blue eyes. I faltered for a second or two, the ice cream forgotten.

  For the first time in my life, I was frightened of this power, this knowledge that always came unbidden, terrified I was about to say something that would wound him as much as it had wounded Alessandra.

  “Um...she’s not dead. She changed,” was all I said in the end.

  He studied me in silence for a few moments, and it felt as if someone was brushing feathers along the insides of my skull.

  “Stop that,” I said, giggling and bringing my hands up to my forehead. “It tickles.”

  He reached for my ice cream and extracted the cherry at the bottom I had been trying to reach. It seemed he had completely forgotten what I had said, so I continued to tell him about my world, my dolls, and even the mean nanny.

  When the ice cream was finished, I scrambled off the side of the fountain. He took the empty cup from me and tossed it in a trash can.

  “Thank you for buying me ice cream, Mr Avery.”