Her Black Soul (The Dark Amulet Series Book 3)

by A. J. Norris

  Berus glanced at his surroundings. Somewhere in the grass the sword lay, partially concealed.

  Whoosh!

  The flame ignited behind him. He rocked back and, using his hands, leaped onto his feet.

  “Don’t make me use this on you. Tell me why you kissed me!”

  What?

  He’d been expecting a death threat. “Wh-why d-don’t you use the sword?”

  “Well, well, well.” Abaddon clapped. “Look, it’s a party and no one invited me.”

  The sound irritated Berus. Jeremiah flew higher, but not away. The demon looked to his Ruler standing on the cusp of a portal to Netherworld. The edges of the opening were fuzzier than usual, a sign of a weakening Supreme Demon Ruler. The last one’s soul had been trapped by the Empress when he failed her, inside the body of a Necro-crawler. The eel-like creature was the only being susceptible to death in Netherworld. Rumor had it the black winged female Abaddon had lusted after had killed him. The true Ruler, His Empress, needed the power of one hundred female souls to break free from the confines of their realm. Yet, why would anyone want to leave Netherworld? Unfortunately, he knew the answer. Netherworld grew smaller with the influx of the Damned, whereas Arcadia grew exponentially with the righteous. The Void had been built as a catch-all not only for the worst humans, but for overpopulation. However, the pile wouldn’t stay in the hole forever. It was possible to escape if you had help. Virgil and Evita proved that.

  Abaddon whistled. “While you’ve been off in la-la-land, the angel got away.”

  Berus grunted and headed for the portal.

  The Demon Ruler sealed the portal. “Missing something?” he asked before the access closed all the way.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-FIVE

  Dahlia

  Dahlia staggered breathlessly, and caught herself by hugging a tree trunk. Her forward motion carried with it many lost feathers that flittered to the ground. Their numbers were frightening. She peered over her shoulder. More skin showed than feathers. The bare patches on her wings had begun darkening.

  She shook off the teleportation dizziness, which seemed to be worsening. Evita would follow her here and she had to be ready. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Berus right before he hip-checked her into another tree. She bounced off and landed in a briar bush. “What did you do that for?”

  “Wh-Where’s the amulet?”

  As she stood, he head-butted her. She collapsed to the hard-packed ground, blood trickling down from her hairline.

  “Am-amulet now!”

  “What? You wanna go home?” Did he truly believe that was going to happen? He was a bigger fool than she thought. The demon grabbed her by the hair and jerked her up. “Okay!” she yelled. “Give me a minute, will ya? And let,” Dahlia yanked her hair from his grasp, “go.”

  She brushed past him in annoyance. “It’s this way. Come on.”

  He followed her so closely his breath pelted the nape of her neck. She flapped her wings and he backed off. Dahlia found the large rock and the birch trees. Ten paces from the boulder, she reached inside a cavity formed in a maple. The amulet looked damn good for a fake. She was willing to bet only Aba could tell the difference.

  Dahlia flipped the trinket at Berus. He snatched the amulet out of the air and inspected it, measuring its weight with his hand. Satisfied, he slipped the thing into his pocket.

  Dahlia shook her head. He glared in her direction. “Evita should be along shortly. This would go a whole lot quicker, if you’d help me take her out. I mean, I know Aba won’t let you back in without her and the amulet too.”

  The demon planted his ass on the rock. He crossed his legs at the ankles and his arms across his chest. “I wa-wait.”

  “Still stuttering like an imbecile, I see.”

  He groaned under his breath. Rustling leaves and snapping twigs diverted his attention to the right. Berus remained seated even though Evita rushed toward them. She held a flaming sword with both hands.

  “Are you gonna do something?” Dahlia splayed her hands.

  Berus mimicked her pose and sneered. He edged his feet out of the way as Evita ran past him.

  Dahlia launched forward like a track star. The other Warrior screamed so loudly, she wondered if a banshee had been set loose and an Irishman was about to die.

  Evita slowed and sliced the space in front of her with the sword.

  Dahlia manifested her own blade. She whirled around, but the other angel’s arm blocked hers, effectively countering the strike. They twirled with their backs to each other and came out face to face.

  “I’m going to enjoy this.” Dahlia smiled, circling Evita. “So much. Then I’m going to enjoy Vir—”

  “Never!” Evita swiped the weapon at her.

  The blade’s tip grazed Dahlia’s middle. She hissed; the cut stung. Her dress split horizontally and gaped open. Glancing down, she checked for blood. Only a tiny amount seeped from the thin line in her flesh. “You missed me.” She ducked a roundhouse kick from Evita meant for her face. Dahlia swung her sword, then the other Warrior turned on her heel and the blade slashed feathers instead of her gut. The golden plumes were like large flecks of glitter in the sunlight as they scattered and floated down. A new hatred developed in Dahlia’s soul. Her black soul. Kissing Aba had been a mistake she couldn’t take back. She thought it would make her stronger. Ha! All it did was make every useless negative emotion all consuming.

  ***

  Evita

  Jealousy. Rage. Anger.

  Evita tasted the negativity of Dahlia’s emotions. The Warrior had always been troubled. She had a slew of males, never finding the one with which to mate. Love was the only thing that mattered the most in any realm, even Netherworld. The natives procreated occasionally, Evita had witnessed it. She had to scrub her eyes afterward. Nonetheless, they possessed some form of love, even if it was incomprehensible.

  Dahlia flew up and over her head, coming down squarely in front of her. Evita stopped abruptly. They both raised their swords. The blades clanked as an old-fashioned duel began.

  Slash…duck…clank…

  Evita kept calm. Losing her temper now was what Dahlia would expect.

  Sword on sword, Dahlia shoved Evita. She reeled, falling onto her bottom. Her tailbone hit the ground forcefully. Tears welled in her eyes. She scrambled to her feet, the pain radiating up her spine. With her wing bent and healing in an unnatural position, she couldn’t fly away. Teleporting would make her a coward and besides, Dahlia would only follow her. Every movement hurt Evita. She needed a rest.

  “Where’s the amulet?”

  “Oh, it’s close by,” Dahlia said, her eyes flipping to Berus, who still leaned against the rock.

  Evita focused on her Warrior sister. If the demon had the amulet, he clearly needed it. Perhaps it was his admission fee for returning home. Shit! That fee also included her. But why? For long as she remembered, Aba had tried to get rid of her.

  “Then let’s see it.”

  Dahlia snorted. “You think I’m that stupid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Quit stalling and fight me!” Dahlia snarled.

  Evita waved her forward. “Come and get me.” Sandbagging was an effective fighting technique. Although for it to work properly, she was going to bleed. Feigning a stumble, she went down on her bottom again.

  Oh Deus, that…hurt.

  Dahlia kicked her in the head. “You’re so weak.”

  Blood flew from Evita’s mouth. Her body wrenched around at the waist. She landed on her stomach with her cheek in the dirt. Another kick bashed her side. The other angel laughed while Evita lay on the ground moaning.

  She labored to her hands and knees, broken and bleeding. The hit to her side had surely cracked a rib or two. Breathing became difficult. Wheezy. Shallow. Evita dragged herself up again. Her hands felt the space around her. The ground tilted. Four blurry Dahlias stomped toward her, but she couldn’t tell which was the real one. Shuffling backward, her heels met wit
h something immovable that she hoped wasn’t Berus. She manifested a weapon that fit into her palm, a switchblade capable of producing a red flame. She held it close to her stomach.

  Dahlia punched her with a right cross. Evita’s back arched over the rock. The stone dug into her spine. Her head knocked into the unforgiving surface. She stored what little strength she had left, battling to remain awake.

  Dahlia landed punch after punch. Evita could hardly open her eyes, yet she still held the knife, waiting for an opportunity. She twisted her wrist, positioning the business end of the hilt between them, and pressed the blade’s triggering mechanism.

  Click.

  Szzzz…

  The other angel smiled. “What do you think that little toy is goin—” Dahlia stopped talking as if the air had escaped her lungs all at once. She glanced at her abdomen, not knowing whether to leave the knife in or take it out. The material of her dress surrounding the stab wound smoldered until her skin showed. Her flesh turned black. “What did you do? What’s happening?” She sounded worried. Confusion washed over her face. The color of her skin faded to a pasty white. She grasped the switchblade then let go, howling in pain. Tears streaked down her face. More of her skin turned black.

  “You…were…Tainted…remember?” Evita wheezed. She raised her foot and kicked Dahlia’s soul out of her body with her last bit of energy.

  The other Warrior’s spirit skidded out, leaving behind its flesh covered pile of bones. The empty body crumpled to the ground. Her eyes went wide, disbelieving what they saw. “Oh Deus…” Her soul had left her body. She was becoming ash. Soon her soul would vanish into nothing but energy, to be absorbed into the Earth.

  Evita went limp and slid off the rock, slumping onto her side. The demon’s boots greeted her. ‘STEEL TOE’ was branded into the leather tips. She closed her eyes, expecting a face bashing. He pushed Dahlia’s carcass over and stepped aside as well. Black smoke rose from the body.

  Dahlia screamed, “No!” over and over. Her voice and essence faded as her former self decayed. Flesh rotted, exposing muscle tissue and tendons. Bones snapped, releasing noxious charcoal and sulfuric fumes. Everything became a thick red and black soup. The remaining slop burned and turned into ash.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-SIX

  Hazel

  Sitting on her bed, Hazel opened the nightstand drawer and peeked inside. The round piece of metal she’d shoved in there looked so harmless, innocent, lonely in a way. How could a necklace be lonely? That was crazy. Or maybe she was nuts like her mother and Dr. Sato believed.

  The bottle of diazepam stood on the table above the amulet. She took two of the blue pills the first day. The drug intensified the visions while she slept. Instead of relief from the unearthly monsters of her dreams, she couldn’t escape them. In her dreams she sought Abaddon, who offered her protection from the creepy goat-legged creatures. Despite the nightmares, she craved the Demon Ruler like he was the last drop of water in the world and she hadn’t had a drink in days.

  She truly was exhausted though and had dozed off slumped over her keyboard at work. She’d woken up with key imprints on her cheek and drool all over her chin. Her co-worker in the next cubicle had shaken her awake and told her she was whimpering in her sleep. Devon said he was concerned about her. She thanked him for his concern but told him to worry about himself, not her.

  Hazel reached for the bottle of booze on the floor by her feet and took a swig. She wasn’t going to resort to the medication, and the alcohol also triggered visions of Abaddon. They weren’t as vivid though, and she feared it wouldn’t be enough.

  “God, what’s wrong with me?” Was she actually driven to drinking because of a man? She pulled open the drawer and hung the necklace around her neck, holding it close to her heart. The metal warmed her palm. When she laid down, her heart beat faster. She reached over and turned the lamp off. Her mouth stretched wide with a yawn.

  The phone rang. Hazel sighed heavily and answered her cell. “Hi, Mom. If you’re calling to check on me, I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but that’s not why I called.” Her mother paused for a long couple of moments.

  Hazel took another drink from the bottle. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, not really. Grandma’s birthday is tomorrow. I thought it’d be nice if you called her today.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to call her tomorrow?”

  “No, I don’t think it can wait. She’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh, I didn’t…is she all right?” As much as Hazel disliked her grandmother, the news still bothered her.

  “I don’t know. She has pneumonia and with the elderly, you never know. She could be fine one day and not the next.”

  “I’ll call her. Text me the number to her room.” They both hung up and Hazel waited for the message from her mother. This could be her only chance to ask her grandmother about Amalya. Even though she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than sleep, she called the old bat. She answered on the second ring. The woman’s voice sounded teeny through the connection. “Grandma, it’s Hazel.”

  “Hazel?”

  “Yeah, your granddaughter.”

  “Uh huh,” she coughed. “I was making sure I heard you right.”

  “Mom said you were sick.”

  “I’m fine, it’s just a bad cold. I can’t seem to shake this cough.”

  “Pneumonia is hardly a bad cold. And you’re in the hospital.” Hazel held the phone away from her ear as her grandma hacked, clearing her throat a few times. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about your daughter.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “I mean your other daughter.” Hazel squeezed her eyes shut waiting for her to either hang up or yell.

  “Ah…A-Amalya.” The woman stammered. Stammered. Hazel was half convinced she didn’t even love her murdered daughter. Her grandma sniffled.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “What do you want to know?”

  The sudden question surprised Hazel. “The night she left home…Mom says you two had a fight.” A long pause on the other end of the phone made Hazel think she wasn’t going to answer.

  “Amalya was my angel…my miracle. She’d been born premature and we almost lost her.”

  Angel? Hazel swallowed hard. “Mom said she was always a difficult child.”

  “Spoiled, yes. But that was my fault.”

  “What was Amalya like that you think she was spoiled?”

  “What’s this about, dear heart?”

  “Curious,” she croaked. “Mom won’t talk about her at all.”

  “Your mother and Amalya didn’t get along. I’m not surprised.”

  “Well, you don’t talk about her either.”

  “This is the first time you asked me about her.”

  God, her grandmother was still spry. When Hazel thought about it, every time the subject came up, usually during the holidays, her mother would abruptly change the subject or glare at her until she shut her mouth. How had she missed that? “You know, you’re right. What happened the night she left?”

  Her grandma hummed softly. “I think about this night…it’s still so vivid. Amalya accused me of taking back a necklace I gave her. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her I didn’t know what happened to it and called me a terrible name.” She took a deep breath and wheezed.

  “That’s not so—”

  “I slapped her. The moment my hand touched her face, I knew I’d never see her again.” Her grandma sobbed. Hazel put a hand over her gaping mouth. She’d never known her grandmother had feelings because of the way she criticized her mother so much.

  “Have you ever thought about what you would say to Amalya if you could see her again?”

  “Yes, every day. Come home.”

  Hazel gained a new perspective and understanding from the confession. They talked for a few minutes more before saying
goodbye. “Get better, Grandma, and happy birthday.”

  “Mmm hmm… I’m so tired.”

  Hazel related well to that statement. It was the reason she was trying to take a nap in the middle of the day. She hung up the phone disliking her grandmother a little less and worrying more about her parting words. She closed her eyes and thought of Abaddon, waiting for another vision to root itself and pull her under.

  Nothing happened. Damn. Although Dr. Sato had told her not to mix liquor and the pills, what would it matter if she took a few? It wasn’t like she was going to overdo it. She’d said the effects would intensify each other and right now that was what she needed. What was the harm?

  She popped the lid on the diazepam and shook some into her mouth, washing them down with the whiskey. It took a few more before she finally slipped into a deep slumber…

  Hazel spun on her heel. Abaddon stood there staring at her with his sheepish, yet cocky smile, an expression she knew well by now. She hid a smirk by pressing her lips into a thin line. He had no idea he was going to give her what she came for and if need be, she’d take it from him.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Amalya

  Amalya had zero experience with toddlers. Killian was a great kid. Although she technically had given birth to him and he was created from her and Elliott’s DNA, their child was made. Therefore, he experienced childhood at an accelerated rate. He went from infant to toddler within hours. He seemed more aware of himself than any child she’d ever known, and his language skills were astounding.