Demon's Tide (Dark Legacy Series Book 3)

by Sara Clancy

  Demon’s Tide

  Dark Legacy Series Book 3

  Written by Sara Clancy

  Edited by Emma Salam

  Copyright © 2017 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

  Thank You and Bonus Novel!

  To really show you my appreciation for downloading this book, I’ve included a bonus scene at the end of this book. I'd also love to send you the full length novel: Sherman’s Library Trilogy by Ron Ripley in 3 formats (MOBI, EPUB and PDF) absolutely free! This will surely make chills run down your spine!

  Download Sherman’s Library Trilogy in 3 formats, get FREE short stories, and receive future discounts by visiting http://www.ScareStreet.com/SaraClancy

  Welcome,

  Sara Clancy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  FREE Bonus Novel!

  Chapter 1

  Engulfed by all-consuming darkness, Marigold strained to make out even the slightest detail. Stone pushed against her back as an icy, unyielding slab. She tried to remember how she had gotten here, but each time she searched her mind, all she found was broken, faded fragments. An old boat in the bayous. Fog that flooded her lungs with every breath. Ghosts closing in like hungry wolves. Each memory was barely more than a notion, too intangible to be of any use, bringing forth more questions that she couldn’t answer.

  She reached into the abyss in front of her and the world tilted. Her stomach lurched at the rapid motion, her shoulders driving down as her feet were forced up. The back of her head banged against the stone as she jerked to a stop. She wasn’t standing any more, but lying down, a frozen wall flat against her palms only a few feet above her. A coffin, her mind offered. You’re in a coffin. She traced her fingers over the polished marble, looking for any groove or cut that would tell her that she was wrong. The sides of the box restricted her movements and kept her elbows close to her sides.

  The air grew stale as her breaths quickened. She crawled at the surface above her but the seams of the box were the only features she could find. Her memories solidified as she struggled. Louis’ commanding voice. Cordelia and René. The sounds of her own bones snapping. Her legs throbbed as she remembered the agony that had sliced along her shattered shins. She lurched up to grab her legs but the space was too limited. With each attempt she smacked against the marble, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. The sound of her bones breaking, a wet sickening crack, echoed in her ears. She lurched forward again and smashed against the unmovable, unseen wall. Pain sparked in the joint, strong enough to force her back down.

  The darkness was like a wet cloth pulled over her face. It flattened across her mouth and nose. Her lungs burned as they struggled to work. Get out! The thought screamed within her head as she drove her fists against the stone. Get out! Marigold braced her hands against the stone above her and pushed with the sheer force of her desperation. Ice cracked as frost prowled closer. It crept over her skin and sealed her hands to the stone. Her muscles strained as she forced the heavy rock slide. The slimmest hint of light broke through the darkness as the stone lid ground against its case. Her muscles gave out and the lid stilled once more.

  It took a few attempts for her to pull her legs up in the limited space. Pain echoed through her knees each time they smashed against the stone but she ignored it. The ice that encased the lid sliced onto her bare skin as she pushed with both her hands and feet. The lid demanded every ounce of strength she could summon before it would move. Memories assaulted her. Memories of pain. Of fear. Of how her throat had stretched, threatening to rip open, as the demon slithered inside.

  With a thunderous grind, the lid began to slide. Light spilt through the gap, bringing with it a cooling rush of fresh air. Marigold closed her eyes, allowing the briefest second of relief before she focused her attention through the gap. She could see the slightest slip of the ceiling and little of the room. Nothing stirred. Beyond the sound of her own labored breaths, the room held in absolute, crushing silence. As she searched through the limited space, she noticed for the first time how distorted the light was. It was faded and tinged to a dark shade of orange, as if the air itself had begun to rot.

  We didn’t have a choice.

  The thought appeared in her head as she wrapped her fingers around the edge of the lid and worked it aside. They had been trapped with the demon a moment away from tearing down the boundaries. Louis, René, and Cordelia. They had only wanted to help her. The demon would have killed them all. Louis had told them that their only hope to survive was to trap the demon.

  Marigold’s movements stuttered to a halt. They could only trap a demon inside of a host.She was the host. It was in her. With her. Images flashed across her mind, detailed enough to cast her back. For a moment, she was again lying on a bloodied sheet, candlelight breaking the darkness, Louis looming over her as the necessary incarnations reluctantly flowed from his lips. In that moment, Marigold hadn’t been able to wrap her mind around the idea of being possessed, of having it inside of her, sharing her flesh. Louis hadn’t been able to enlighten her. No two demons ever created the same hell, he had said. She hadn’t expected this, to be able to move and think.

  Her blood froze in her veins as a thought slithered to the forefront of her mind. Where is it? This world, the reality that she existed in right now, had to be some cobweb riddled corner of her own mind. It’s here, too. It will find her. She pushed at the stone with renewed determination, refusing to give up even as every inch of her threatened to fail. Finally, the ice shattered and the lid ground over the walls of the coffin. Air rushed in, cooling her sweat against her skin as she choked on the distorted, dust-filled light.

  For all her effort, the stone barely moved. She bent into an uncomfortable angle and wiggled into the gap. The layers of stone dragged against both her stomach and spine as she struggled to sit up in the confined space. Sitting on the ledge, she paused to catch her breath. The frost kept a layer of her skin as she peeled her hand off and traced the line of her shin with trembling fingers. The bones were intact, the muscles strong, but the pain lingered.

  Dust hovered in the decomposing light, filling the mausoleum with a dull, rusted haze. There was something familiar about the tomb that took her a moment to place. She had only ever seen the real thing hidden within shadows and crumbled with age. Now it stood around her, restored to its former glory. The La Roux family mausoleum. Erected in the heart of the New Orleans cemetery, miles away from the bayous she last remembered being in. The tomb held generations of her family line. For more than a hundred years, they had been laid to rest within these walls. Each one had left behind a legacy of murder and madness, the demon insured that. Every time one fell, the demon moved on to the next generation. This tomb was a monument to its accomplishments and shone with its pride. Under the thick layers of ice crystals, every stone was perfect.

  Memories of the last time she had been here encroached into her mind. She forced them aside as best she could. Within seconds of her feet hitting the floor, the chill had claimed her toes, stinging like a thousand needles. The frost encrusted her feet with every step across the small space. It cracked and peeled her skin. Her hand hovered over the door handle as she studied the patterns the chiseled iron made against the wood. The metal twisted into fiery peaks with small outlines of people lost within the frozen flames. She couldn’t fight back the sensations that squirmed
under her skin, her memories becoming a sickening sludge within her skull.

  Locked in the dark, the demon at her spine, smelling her. Mine, it had whispered so close that its stench had burnt her nose. It had been the first time she had heard its voice. The first time she had known what it wanted. Her stomach churned at the thought. She swallowed to work the bile back down her throat. It had been so close. It’s a lot closer now. The thought came unbidden and hollowed her out until the chill filled her bones.

  Keep moving, she told herself sternly but didn’t take a step. Instead, she took in the space around her, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The unnatural silence and distorted light made the world as serene but dimensionless as a painting. The cold was real. It pressed against her skin, forcing her to shiver and wrap her arms around herself. Stained glass windows circled the high roof. It was an added embellishment that didn’t exist in the real tomb. Each panel held a mosaic of broken glass, brought together to form pictures that were more three-dimensional than its parts.

  Crimson glass bracketed patches of ghastly white to make scenes of smirking demons and hellfire. Between the images were skeletons of icy blue and midnight black. They looked like x-ray images and she swore that she could see them twitch. Their dark empty sockets stared down at her. She turned back to the door and wrenched it open. The door opened easily, catching her off guard and making her stumble back with the unneeded strength.

  Snow curled into the room, tiny flakes that drifted and danced on the wind. They slithered over the stone like phantom snakes, attacking Marigold’s legs and leaving her trembling. Her grip on herself tightened but it didn’t help. Ice snuck into her marrow and frosted over her joints, bringing a slight ache to her every movement. Cautious, she inched towards the door and looked outside. The graveyard was relatively as she had remembered. But taller. Prestigious.

  Unable to bury anything in the sodden ground, the people of New Orleans had built a city of stone to house their dead. It sprawled out in a twisting labyrinth, the streets too narrow and the buildings too high to allow anyone to get their bearings. The last time she had been here, the sweltering Louisiana heat had rippled off of the stones. Everything had been shades of grey and black but harmless when under the blistering sun. Now the sunlight was gone and the dull colors looked gnarled and sinister. The cold reminded her of her old life. The one she had lived before knowing about demons and family curses. Before her parents had tried to murder her. Before they had murdered her younger sister. It was a weather that belonged to towering mountains and distant memories.

  Small drifts of snow piled around the edges of the structures and settled into the gaps of the cobblestone streets. A thick fog clung low to the earth and, while it didn’t rise much higher than her ankles, it completely swallowed the ground.

  Marigold stood in the threshold, uncertain if it was safer to leave or stay. The mausoleum was either a trap or a hiding place.The uncertainty left her rooted in place, watching the snow fall and feeling the frost’s grip tightening around her. Slowly, she took her first step out of the tomb.

  The snow was buttery soft and bitterly cold. It didn’t crunch under her weight or melt with her body heat. Instead, it welcomed her, curling over her feet in a frozen embrace. She only took a few steps but it was enough to bring her to the middle of the narrow street that wove through the dark structures. The snow flipped and skirted over the ground before her as the fog rolled like a sea before a storm. Nothing else moved. Nothing made a sound.

  Marigold turned around, not certain which way to go. She suddenly couldn’t find the markers she remembered. Her indecisive footsteps stirred the fog until she could glimpse the ground. Everywhere her foot fell left an impression in the snow. Blood oozing out of the indents like a gaping wound. Marigold staggered back, only leaving more bleeding footsteps in her wake. Even through her numb skin, she could feel the liquid slosh between her toes. Her stomach lurched at the sensation.

  Turning to the left, she forced herself into a fast pace and refused to look back. The snow prickled against her face, caught on her eyelashes, and clung to her flowing crimson hair. They melted against the heat of her body, becoming droplets that trickled down her skin in tiny arctic streams. Marigold only slowed down as she edged towards an intersection. Three options stretched out before her, only offering towering buildings, shadows, and fog. With each glance, the differences withered away until they were identical copies of each other. She spun as her mind struggled to understand what she was seeing. Her efforts made the fog swirl and disperse, exposing a large circle of the earth at her feet.

  Her heartbeat stammered as she saw the bloody footsteps that littered the snow. There were hundreds of them running off in every direction. The confirmation that she wasn’t alone made lead form in the pit of her stomach. As hard as she searched, she couldn’t see anyone. The fog remained as a thick lake over the earth, disturbed only by her presence. All she could hear was her ragged breathing.

  Completely lost, there was little to do but pick a direction at random. The fog rolled out from around her and crashed against the structures like waves upon rocks. With each surging tide, she could see more of the ground, of the bloody footprints that scattered across the silver snow. She froze in place when she saw it, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand. Amongst the human footprints, there was one that looked almost canine, only far bigger. The snow dug in about an inch from the paw print itself, forced in by the tips of curved talons. Crouching down and spread her fingers wide over the paw print. Even as her fingers trembled with the strain, she couldn’t spread them wide enough to rival its width or length.

  Her hand still hovered over the mark when she heard it. A deep, throaty growl that rattled like hollow metal. It was neither animalistic nor human, but full of unbridled malice. Every inch of her being cringed from the sound. She tried to suck in a breath but her lungs were now unbending iron. Slowly, she turned her head and glanced over her shoulder. Something burned within the darkness that lingered between the tombs. It had the form of a dog, but the size and strength of a rhino. The stench of singed flesh filled the air, rising from its bristling and boiling skin. Deep rivers of glowing magma severed its flesh and its eyes were pits of fire. The fog sizzled into steam at its touch. Every step, every breath the beast made released a burst of sparking embers. They swirled in the air around it and brought it further into view. Saliva dripped from its fangs as it opened its jaws and released another feral rumble.

  Marigold sprinted into the maze of mausoleums. The beast gave chase. She could hear its growled breaths as it followed her every turn. It rapidly closed the space between them. As fast as she ran she couldn’t gain back the distance she lost. The snow gave way to stone and ice under her feet. The structures loomed, the sickly light played over their polished surfaces. Behind her, she could hear the crunch of claws destroying the cobblestones. Then a scrap and drag as it scaled a wall.

  She darted around another corner and found herself confronted by a dead end. It was above her. She could hear it running across the towering rooftops. Its low growl, the clank of its talons, the crackling of its molten flesh. But she couldn’t pinpoint where it was. It moved too fast, leaving behind only a stream of smoldering embers. Steam rose up into the sky, creating a haze as the stones began to heat. The air grew stiflingly humid. The buildings began to glow and groan with the strain.

  Snow melted under her feet, wetting the stones as they began to emit their own warmth. Still, the tendrils of fog remained, rising higher, becoming thicker. She turned, desperate to escape back the way she had come only to find the exit gone. She was blocked in on all sides by the massive tombs. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw it. A blazing flash and a cluster of sparks. She tried to spin around, arms raised to defend herself, but her feet tripped on the slick surface and she fell. The monster loomed only inches away, the blaze it emitted burning her eyes, as the fog rose up to swallow her. She felt her back hit the ground, but the stones didn’t h
old firm. They churned like water and she sunk through them, into them. The liquid rock poured over her face, reducing the world to a cool gray as she plummeted down into its depths.

  ***

  Louis couldn’t sit still. The old metal and worn vinyl of the waiting room chair squeaked with his every movement. His back was a cluster of muscles that ached and burned as his leg restlessly jumped. It had been hours since the ritual had failed, leaving the demon within Marigold’s skin. Now it was alone with the small town’s Sheriff. With Marigold’s sweet features at its disposal, it could rain destruction down on his life with just a few words.

  His eyes shifted back to the police officer that had brought them in. Officer Brown now stood at the nurse’s station, subtly guarding the double doors that led further into the small, rural hospital and the patient rooms. People would sporadically come and go, talking to Brown in hushed whispers, broken only by the significant looks they turned towards Louis and his kin.

  Suspicions hung thickly over all of them. There was no way it wouldn’t. They had dragged Marigold out of the bayous, unconscious and with both of her legs broken. The only way to move her had been to wrap her up in sheets from the boat’s tables. In the moment, he hadn’t thought to look for anything else. Now he was just waiting for them to realize that the symbols on the sheets, made with Marigold’s own blood, were satanic in origin. It was only a matter of time before their flimsy lies topple down to bury them.

  “Louis,” Cordelia’s voice was soft but stern. “You’re looking very guilty at the moment.”

  “I can’t help it,” Louis hissed. “I feel guilty.”

  “Well, rein it back in.”

  We didn’t have a choice, Louis told himself. On the haunted, rusted ship that was slowly sinking into an alligator infested swamp, those words had carried an inescapable truth. But now, as sunlight streamed in through the windows and bounced off the sunny yellow walls, the words just sounded hollow. We didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it and buried his face in his hands. What have we done?