Black Dawn

by L. J. Smith

  Can I do it? Maybe. If I look confident. I’d have to walk right in as if I belonged, not hesitate.

  And hope she doesn’t notice. Then get behind her. See if she talks to anybody, what she says . . .

  The laughing girls had caught the elevator. Maggie walked straight up to the door and, without pausing, she pushed it open and went inside.

  Look confident, she thought, and she kept on going, instinctively moving toward a side wall. Her entry didn’t seem to have caused a stir, and it was easier than she’d thought to walk in among these strangers. The apartment was very dark, for one thing. And the music was medium loud, and everybody seemed to be talking.

  The only problem was that she couldn’t see Sylvia. She put her back to the wall and waited for her eyes to adjust.

  Not over there—not by the stereo. Probably in one of the bedrooms in back, changing.

  It was as she moved toward the little hallway that led to the bedrooms that Maggie really noticed the strangeness. Something about this apartment, about this party . . . was off. Weird. It gave her the same feeling that Sylvia did.

  Danger.

  This place is dangerous.

  Everybody there was so good-looking—or else ugly in a really fashionable way, as if they’d just stepped off MTV. But there was an air about them that reminded Maggie of the sharks at the Seattle Aquarium. A coldness that couldn’t be seen, only sensed.

  There is something so wrong here. Are they all drug dealers or something? Satanists? Some kind of junior mafia? They just feel so evil. . . .

  Maggie herself felt like a cat with all its fur standing on end.

  When she heard a girl’s voice coming from the first bedroom, she froze, hoping it was Sylvia.

  “Really, the most secret place you’ve ever imagined.” It wasn’t Sylvia. Maggie could just see the speaker through the crack in the door. She was pale and beautiful, with one long black braid, and she was leaning forward and lightly touching the back of a boy’s hand.

  “So exotic, so mysterious—it’s a place from the past, you see. It’s ancient, and everybody’s forgotten about it, but it’s still there. Of course, it’s terribly dangerous—but not for us. . . .”

  Not relevant, Maggie’s mind decided, and she stopped listening. Somebody’s weird vacation plans; nothing to do with Sylvia or Miles.

  She kept on edging down the hall. The door at the end was shut.

  Sylvia’s bedroom.

  Well, she has to be in there; she isn’t anywhere else.

  With a surreptitious glance behind her, Maggie crept closer to the door. She leaned toward it until her cheek touched the cool white paint on the wood, all the while straining her eyes toward the living room in case somebody should turn her way. She held her breath and tried to look casual, but her heart was beating so loudly that she could only hear it and the music.

  Certainly there was nobody talking behind the door. Maggie’s hopes of eavesdropping faded.

  All right, then, I’ll go in. And there’s no point in trying to be stealthy; she’s going to notice.

  So I’ll just do it.

  It helped that she was so keyed up. She didn’t even need to brace herself; her body was at maximum tension already. Despite her sense that there was something menacing about this whole place, she wasn’t frightened, or at least not in a way that felt like fear. It felt like rage instead, like being desperately ready for battle. She wanted to grab something and shake it to pieces.

  She took hold of the knob and pushed the door open.

  A new smell of incense hit her as the air rushed out. It was stronger than the living room smell, more earthy and musky, with an overlying sweetness that Maggie didn’t like. The bedroom was even darker than the hall, but Maggie stepped inside. There was tension on the door somehow; as soon as she let go of it, it whispered shut behind her.

  Sylvia was standing beside the desk.

  She was alone, and she was still wearing the Gore-Tex climbing outfit she’d had on at Maggie’s house. Her shimmering fine hair was starting to dry and lifting up like little angel feathers away from her forehead.

  She was doing something with a brass incense burner, adding pinches of powder and what looked like herbs to it. That was where the sickeningly sweet smell was coming from.

  Maggie had planned—as far as she’d planned anything at all—to rush right up and get in Sylvia’s face. To startle her into some kind of confession. She was going to say, “I need to talk to you.” But before she could get the first word out, Sylvia spoke without looking up.

  “What a shame. You really should have stayed home with your parents, you know.” Her voice was cool and languorous, not hasty and certainly not regretful.

  Maggie stopped in her tracks.

  Now, what’s that supposed to mean? Is it a threat? Fine. Whatever. I can threaten, too.

  But she was taken by surprise, and she had to swallow hard before speaking roughly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but at least you’ve dropped the weepy-weepy act. You were really bad at it.”

  “I thought I was very good,” Sylvia said and added a pinch of something to the incense burner. “I’m sure the officers thought so, too.”

  Once again, Maggie was startled. This wasn’t going at all as she expected. Sylvia was so calm, so much at ease. So much in control of the situation.

  Not anymore, Maggie thought.

  She just admitted it was an act. All that chokey stuff while she was talking about Miles . . .

  Fury uncoiled in Maggie’s stomach like a snake.

  She took three fast steps forward. “You know why I’m here. I want to know what really happened to my brother.”

  “I told you—”

  “You told a bunch of lies! I don’t know what the truth is. The only thing I do know is that Miles would never make a stupid mistake like not buckling his harness. Look, if you did something dumb—if he’s lying out there hurt or something, and you were too scared to admit it—you’d better tell me right now.” It was the first time she’d put into words a reason for Sylvia to be lying.

  Sylvia looked up.

  Maggie was startled. In the light of the single candle by the incense burner, Sylvia’s eyes were not violet but a more reddish color, like amethyst. They were large and clear and the light seemed to play in them, quivering.

  “Is that what you think happened?” Sylvia asked softly.

  “I said, I don’t know what happened!” Maggie felt dizzy suddenly, and fought it, glaring into Sylvia’s strange eyes. “Maybe you had a fight or something. Maybe you’ve got some other boyfriend. Maybe you weren’t even out climbing on Halloween in the first place. All I know is that you lied and that there’s no body to find. And I want to know the truth!”

  Sylvia looked back steadily, the candlelight dancing in her purple eyes. “You know what your brother told me about you?” she asked musingly. “Two things. The first was that you never gave up. He said, ‘Maggie’s no rocket scientist, but once she gets hold of something she’s just like a little bull terrier.’ And the second was that you were a complete sucker for anybody in trouble. A real bleeding heart.”

  She added a few fingernail-sized chips of smooth bark to the mixture that was smoking in the incense burner.

  “Which is too bad,” she went on thoughtfully. “Strong-willed and compassionate: that’s a real recipe for disaster.”

  Maggie had had it.

  “What happened to Miles? What did you do to him?”

  Sylvia laughed, a little secret laugh. “I’m afraid you couldn’t guess if you spent the rest of your short life trying.” She shook her head. “It was too bad, actually. I liked him. We could have been good together.”

  Maggie wanted to know one thing. “Is he dead?”

  “I told you, you’ll never find out. Not even when you go where you’re going.”

  Maggie stared at her, trying to make sense of this. She couldn’t. When she spoke it was in a level voice, staring into Sylvia’s eyes. />
  “I don’t know what your problem is—maybe you’re crazy or something. But I’m telling you right now, if you’ve done anything to my brother, I am going to kill you.”

  She’d never said anything like this before, but now it came out quite naturally, with force and conviction. She was so angry that all she could see was Sylvia’s face. Her stomach was knotted and she actually felt a burning in her middle, as if there were a glowing fire there.

  “Now,” she said, “are you going to tell me what happened to him? ”

  Sylvia sighed, spoke quietly. “No.”

  Before Maggie quite knew she was doing it, she had reached out and grabbed the front of Sylvia’s green Gore-Tex jacket with both hands.

  Something sparked in Sylvia’s eyes. For a moment, she looked startled and interested and grudgingly respectful. Then she sighed again, smiling faintly.

  “And now you’re going to kill me?”

  “Listen, you . . .” Maggie leaned in. She stopped.

  “Listen to what?”

  Maggie blinked. Her eyes were stinging suddenly. The smoke from the incense burner was rising directly into her face.

  “You . . .”

  I feel strange, Maggie thought.

  Very strange. Dizzy. It seemed to come over her all at once. There was a pattern of flashing gray spreading across her vision. Her stomach heaved and she felt a wave of queasiness.

  “Having a problem?” Sylvia’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  The incense.

  It was rising right in her face. And now . . .

  “What did you do to me?” Maggie gasped. She reeled backward, away from the smoke, but it was too late. Her knees were horribly rubbery. Her body seemed to be far away somehow, and the sparkling pattern blinded her completely.

  She felt the back of her legs come up against a bed. Then they simply weren’t supporting her anymore; she was slithering down, unable to catch herself with her useless arms. Her lips were numb.

  “You know, for a moment there, I thought I might be in trouble,” Sylvia’s voice was saying calmly. “But I was wrong. The truth is that you’re just an ordinary girl, after all. Weak and powerless—and ordinary. How could you even think about going up against me? Against my people?”

  Am I dying? Maggie wondered. I’m losing myself. I can’t see and I can’t move. . . .

  “How could you come here and attack me? How could you think you had a chance at winning?” Even Sylvia’s voice seemed to be getting more and more distant. “You’re pathetic. But now you’ll find out what happens when you mess with real power. You’ll learn. . . .”

  The voice was gone. There was only a rushing noise in an endless blackness.

  Miles, Maggie thought. I’m sorry. . . .

  Then she stopped thinking at all.

  CHAPTER 4

  Maggie was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, and that was strange enough, but what was even stranger was the fact that she knew it wasn’t an ordinary dream.

  This was something . . . that came from outside her, that was being . . . sent. Some deep part of her mind fumbled for the proper words, seething with frustration, even while the normal part of her was busy staring around her and being afraid.

  Mist. Mist everywhere, white tendrils that snaked gracefully across her vision and coiled around her like genii that had just been let out of lamps. She had the feeling that there were dark shapes out in the mist; she seemed to see them looming out of the corner of her eye, but as soon as she turned they were obscured again.

  Gooseflesh rose on Maggie’s arms. It wasn’t just the touch of the mist. There was a noise that made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. It was just at the threshold of hearing, distorted by distance or something else, and it seemed to be calling over and over again, “Who are you?”

  Give me a break, Maggie thought. She shook her head hard to get rid of the prickly feeling on her neck. This is just way too . . . too Gothic. Do I always have corny dreams like this?

  But the next moment something happened that sent a new chill washing over her, this time one of simple, everyday alarm. Something was coming through the mist, fast.

  She turned, stiffening. And then, strangely, everything seemed to change at once.

  The mist began to recede. She saw a figure, dark against it, nothing more than a silhouette at first. For just an instant she thought of Miles—but the thought was gone almost as quickly as it came. It was a boy, but a stranger, she could tell by the shape of him and the way he moved. He was breathing hard and calling in a desperate voice, “Where are you? Where are you?”

  So that was it. Not “Who are you,” Maggie thought.

  “Where are you? Maggie! Where are you?”

  The sound of her own name startled her. But even as she drew in a sharp breath, he turned and saw her.

  And stopped short. The mist was almost gone now and she could see his face. His expression was one of wonder and relief and joy.

  “Maggie,” he whispered.

  Maggie stood rooted to the spot. She didn’t know him. She was positive she had never seen him before. But he was staring at her as if . . . as if she were the most important thing in the universe to him, and he’d been searching for her for years until he’d almost given up hope. She was too astonished to move as he suddenly erupted from stillness. In three long steps he was in front of her, his hands closing on her shoulders.

  Gently. Not possessively. But as if he had the absolute right to do this, and as if he needed to convince himself she was real.

  “It worked. I got through,” he said.

  He was the most striking person she’d ever seen. Dark hair, a little rough and tousled, with a tendency to wave. Smooth fair skin, elegant bones. A mouth that looked as if it normally might be proud and willful, but right now was simply vulnerable.

  And fearless, brilliant yellow eyes.

  It was those eyes that held her, arresting and startling in an already distinctive face. No, she had never seen him before. She would have remembered.

  He was a whole head taller than she was, and lithe and nicely muscled. But Maggie didn’t have a feeling of being overpowered. There was so much tender anxiety in his face, and something near pleading in those fierce, black-lashed golden eyes.

  “Listen, I know you don’t understand, and I’m sorry. But it was so hard getting through—and there isn’t much time.”

  Dazed and bewildered, Maggie latched onto the last sentence almost mechanically. “What do you mean—getting through?”

  “Never mind. Maggie, you have to leave; do you understand that? As soon as you wake up, you get out of here.”

  “Leave where?” Maggie was more confused than ever, not for lack of information, but because she was suddenly threatened by too much of it. She needed to remember—where had she gone to sleep? Something had happened, something involving Miles. She’d been worried about him. . . .

  “My brother,” she said with sudden urgency. “I was looking for my brother. I need to find him.” Even though she couldn’t remember exactly why.

  The golden eyes clouded over. “You can’t think about him now. I’m sorry.”

  “You know something a—”

  “Maggie, the important thing is for you to get away safe. And to do that you have to go as soon as you wake up. I’m going to show you the way.”

  He pointed through the mist, and suddenly Maggie could see a landscape, distant but clear, like a film being projected on a veil of smoke.

  “There’s a pass, just below the big overhanging rock. Do you see it?”

  Maggie didn’t understand why she needed to see it. She didn’t recognize the landscape, although it might have been anywhere in the Olympics or the Cascade mountain range above the tree line.

  “First you find the place where you see three peaks together, the same height and leaning toward each other. Do you see? And then you look down until you find the overhanging rock. It’s shaped like a wave breaking. Do you see?”

>   His voice was so urgent and imperious that Maggie had to answer. “I see. But—”

  “Remember it. Find it. Go and never look back. If you get away all right, the rest doesn’t matter.” His face was pale now, the features carved in ice, “The whole world can fall into ruin, for all I care.”

  And then, with the suddenness that characterized all his movements, he leaned forward and kissed her.

  A nice kiss, on the cheek. She felt his warm, quick breath there, then his lips pressing lightly, and then a sudden quivering in them, as if he were overcome by some strong emotion. Passion, maybe, or excruciating sadness.

  “I love you,” he whispered, his breath stirring the hair by her ear. “I did love you. Always remember that.”

  Maggie was dizzy with confusion. She didn’t understand anything, and she should push this stranger away. But she didn’t want to. However frightened she was, it wasn’t of him. In fact, she had an irresistible feeling of peace and security in his arms. A feeling of belonging.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  But before he could answer, everything changed again.

  The mist came back. Not slowly, but like fog rolling in, quick and silent, muffling everything. The warm, solid body against Maggie’s suddenly seemed insubstantial, as if it were made of fog itself.

  “Wait a minute—” She could hear her voice rising in panic, but deadened by the pearly cocoon around her.

  And then . . . he was gone. Her arms were holding only emptiness. And all she could see was white.

  CHAPTER 5

  Maggie woke slowly.

  And painfully.

  I must be sick, she thought. It was the only explanation for the way she felt. Her body was heavy and achy, her head was throbbing, and her sinuses were completely stuffed up. She was breathing through her mouth, which was so dry and gluey that her tongue stuck to the roof of it.

  I was having a dream, she thought. But even as she grasped at bits of it, it dissolved. Something about . . . fog? And a boy.

  It seemed vaguely important for her to remember, but even the importance was hard to keep hold of. Besides, another, more practical consideration was overriding it. Thirst. She was dying of thirst.