Dark Star

by Bethany Frenette

  He came up behind her, pulling her backward against him. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, closing the space between them. His hand rested near her belly.

  “Lucy, I promise you. You won’t be alone.”

  The vision—I didn’t know what else to call it—sped forward.

  My mother was farther away this time, standing in a hallway, her face half-turned. She spoke to someone I couldn’t see, though I recognized the voice. And I knew that hall, the pristine carpet, the walls painted in neutral colors.

  “Verrick will be weakened, but so will you. Some strength will remain in him, and without Adrian, you’re at a disadvantage.”

  “I understand.” Mom’s voice was flat. “I can do this, Esther.”

  “Timing is crucial. If Verrick realizes what has happened—”

  “He’ll go after Adrian. I know.”

  There was a pause, long enough that my mother turned to leave. Then Esther’s voice, clear and cutting through the thick silence. “You really mean to go with him?”

  “I do.”

  A blur of light. My mother strode down the hall, her face grim and determined—then she faded. A wind rushed up. The bright, vacant light of the hall became the muted light of stars and the dizzy yellow of headlights, streetlamps, office buildings. It was night, and she stood above the city, on the roof of a building. She wore a dark coat instead of a hoodie, and her long hair flowed free, but she was still Morning Star. She was there with a purpose. She took two large steps forward, then hopped onto the ledge, staring down at the city below. Traffic rushed past. Detached though I was, I felt a surge of panic as I watched her. She lifted her arms, spreading them outward, the wind billowing around her.

  You could fall! I wanted to shout at her. I wanted to pull her backward, into safety, where a sudden gust was less likely to send her hurtling into oblivion.

  A voice came from behind her. “You think you’re clever, do you?”

  Mom didn’t turn. She didn’t even seem to react, except for a certain tension along her arms, and the fact that her fingertips— both hands, not just the left—gained a faint glow.

  “A noble sacrifice. He won’t even remember you. But I wouldn’t worry. You’ll be dead soon enough, and I’ll be sure to send him to you.”

  My mother finally turned, leaping off her perch onto the smooth tar of the roof. She bent slightly, her arms held in front of her, the glow spreading through her fingers, down to her wrists. At her throat, a third light began to pulse. “Seems like I’ve heard that line before,” she said. “And yet, here I am, still living.”

  “A temporary circumstance.”

  “I’m ready, Verrick. I’m ready.”

  She was. I saw it in her eyes, the set of her mouth, the way she held herself. There was no hesitancy in her. No trace of fear or uncertainty. She would end this. Tonight. She stepped forward, and for the first time, I saw the Harrower she faced.

  He looked like a man. I’d known that, I should have expected it, but seeing him there, his arms slack at his sides, his hair slightly rumpled, it felt incongruous that all of my mother’s rage and hate should be directed at someone so benign in appearance.

  She attacked. Faster than I could see or think, she sped across the roof, the shine at her fingers a sudden blurred arc. One of her hands shot toward his throat, burning the air behind her. Verrick deflected her, catching her wrist, tossing her backward. She caught his other arm and the two of them lurched forward, falling hard against the tar. I felt the wind rush out of her lungs.

  But my mother was strong. She was fierce, and frightening, and something I had never seen. She kicked outward, away from Verrick, and crouched low. I heard her panting. The glow of her veins beat with her heart, colors churning at her wrists and jugular.

  “Your powers are sealed,” she said, her voice clear and carrying. “You really think you have the strength left to kill me?”

  “You have no idea what my strength is,” he said.

  Beneath his feet, a ring of light began to pool, thick and bright and smelling faintly of blood. It rose around him, spreading outward until it surrounded them both—great waves of light, like a miniature aurora borealis. Its colors shimmered in the darkness, soft blues fading into greens, yellows, pale orange, the hint of violet, and a clear white light, warm and vibrant and strangely beautiful.

  Only there was something very wrong about this.

  Glimmers of light, I thought. That was how the energy of the Astral Circle manifested.

  Verrick had accessed the Circle. He was depleting its energy— draining it, the same way he’d drained the powers of all those Guardians he’d killed. Drawing its light into himself. I felt my mother’s heart lurch. All around them, the light continued to swell, fiery pulses that flickered and then dimmed as they rushed toward Verrick.

  She launched herself against him.

  He lifted his arm and a shock of energy flew outward, hitting my mother just below the collarbone with enough force to knock her backward. I felt the impact rattle through her. She tried to lift herself upward, but before she could move, another blast caught her. Her head fell back against the tar. A trickle of blood welled on one cheek.

  Verrick moved closer.

  “I know what they call you. Morning Star. The light in the east. Some sort of godsend, here to guide and protect. But we know differently, don’t we?”

  He stood above her. The light that surrounded them was blinding, burning. My mother shut her eyes tightly, turned her face to the side, but I could still see him. Though his expression was blank, I felt the malice within him.

  I’d seen images of demons in books and movies, in paintings hung in museums, in the bottomless depths of my own nightmares. I’d seen Harrowers before, the rippling skin that wasn’t quite human, scales and claws, eyes that weren’t eyes. I’d felt the malevolence and fury that stained the icy void Beneath.

  None of that prepared me for Verrick’s face. I didn’t know if I believed in hell, but if one existed, he had surely crawled out of it.

  It wasn’t that he was hideous and distorted, some gruesome creature with horns and fangs. It was a sense of what moved behind his eyes: the final, gasping breath of a drowning child; a thousand moths crushed underfoot; bird wings caught on wires; the colors of blood and bone, muscle and fat; the last light of the cosmos suddenly snuffed.

  It was something I’d felt before.

  Something I’d felt as my hands covered my Nav cards, seeking the Remnant. Some trace of him left behind—seeking, also.

  I began to understand, now, why my father had made his choice. Why he had sacrificed himself, sealing his blood to weaken Verrick.

  Your basic apocalypse, I’d told Esther, half joking.

  Now this apocalypse stood over my mother. I wanted to tell her to run, to run and keep running and not look back. But my mother stayed motionless.

  “You’re no light,” the demon said. “You’re the black hole that consumes everything, heedless and without hope. You are nothing. Dozens of your Kin killed because of your weakness. And now your lover as well. I’ve fought you before. I’ve felt it. You crave your own destruction.”

  He knelt beside her, the Circle’s stolen light washing over them both. His hand caressed her cheek, almost tenderly. “Let me end it.”

  My mother’s eyes flew open.

  Her hand flashed upward, her fingers latching on to the side of his face. Verrick jerked away, trying to escape her grip, but her hand slid to his throat and stayed there. The glow of her fingertips burned against his skin.

  “You’ve fought me before,” she said, jumping to her feet and dragging him with her. “You think I want to die? Maybe. But trust me when I say I’m taking you with me.”

  Around them, the Circle’s light crackled and sparked, colors bending, writhing, weakening, fading. Even as he drew the light to him, Verrick struggled against my mother, clawing down her neck, her side, down toward the swell at her belly.

  From one end of the roo
f to the other, they fought. Verrick broke free of her grip. A blast from his hand connected with her face, and she stumbled backward, somehow keeping her balance. She ran forward again, one hand catching his neck. Through skin and shirt, I saw his spine go red.

  A sound burst from Verrick’s throat, dark and wild. My mother didn’t stop. He moved back and she advanced, pushing him farther and farther, until they reached the ledge.

  “You can’t end me,” he choked out, gasping. “I’m bound to you. Bound to the daughter that sleeps beneath your heart. She carries her father’s blood. Kill me and we’ll meet again.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” she said, thrusting him forward, off the ledge.

  And together they fell.

  ***

  She should have died.

  I knew that, and I felt her knowing it.

  She should have died. She was ready to die. But she wanted to live. It radiated out of her, as brilliant and blinding as any sun in any solar system.

  The ground rushed toward her.

  As they fell, Verrick strengthened his hold on the Circle, dragging its energy with him. Light surrounded them both, so hot and bright that it seemed they were wrapped in flame. He struggled wildly against her, but she didn’t relax her grip. Her fingers dug into his throat, twisting, squeezing.

  And then it happened.

  Verrick’s body went slack against her. The light of the Circle vanished. It spun around my mother, burning into her, beneath her skin, so that for a moment her entire body seemed to shine. She cried out, wordless, afraid—and then it was gone.

  My mother was alive, unharmed.

  She’d landed on the street as though she’d been placed there, no shock of impact ripping through her. Though she was barely wounded, she reeked of blood. Verrick’s body, still clutched tightly against her, disappeared Beneath. She didn’t move. She just lay there on the pavement, staring up at the dizzy blur of city lights and the distant luster of stars. Tentatively, as though she were afraid, she lifted one hand and pressed it to her belly.

  Finally she rose, pulling herself to her feet and looking about the street. The area was narrow and deserted, little more than an alley. On either side, buildings of steel and concrete loomed over her. A few cars moved past in the street ahead of her as a light rain began to fall. My mother tucked her hair out of her face and headed for the intersection.

  She caught a cab and asked to be taken to Lake of the Isles. The driver, seeing her injuries, gave her a long, concerned look, but didn’t question her. Pop music floated from the radio, and Mom leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes. The left side of her face was swollen and slightly bruised, and a smear of blood remained on her cheek.

  She tucked one hand into a coat pocket and withdrew an envelope.

  A fleeting expression of shock crossed her face. The cab was dark, but the ink of her name was easily visible on the white surface of the envelope. I didn’t have to recognize his handwriting to know the letter was from my father. I didn’t have to read the paper to know the words.

  Lucy.

  You’re asleep now. I can hear you breathing. I want you to know I meant what I said.

  I won’t be waiting. I’ve asked my mother to take me away after the sealing. I’ve asked her not to tell you where. You will say this is unfair. You’ll say I’m making your decision for you. And I am. You’re a Guardian, Lucy. You always will be. But I can’t be anymore. It has to be done.

  I don’t know about religion or physics or the design of the universe, but I’ve heard it said that time is curved. I have to believe that somewhere there is a world for us. It isn’t this one.

  I love you, Lucy. Always.

  She didn’t cry. She didn’t cry as she slowly folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. She didn’t cry when the cab reached its destination and she hastily thrust money at the driver. She merely stood there, breathing, looking out into the long, empty darkness, where my father wasn’t waiting.

  Then she turned and walked back toward the road, away from the city, as the skyline receded behind her.

  The vision snapped.

  I was suddenly back in the drawing room. Esther sat across from me, watching me closely. I took in a deep, gasping breath

  “She didn’t tell you she was pregnant,” I said, trying to meet Esther’s gaze. I felt out of focus and unsteady and overwhelmed, but I wanted to hear this.

  “No. They chose to keep that information to themselves. And when Lucy returned to the Cities, she told us you were a year younger than you are, so you couldn’t be Adrian’s daughter. I should have investigated the matter—but, I suppose, I never believed she hated me enough to keep my grandchild from me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” I said softly. Mom might not have told me her reasons for keeping the Kin from me, but I knew that much.

  Esther cleared her throat. “Regardless, you’re here now.”

  “She didn’t go back,” I said. “When she left that night, she didn’t go back.”

  Esther’s nod was slight, her eyes clouded. “No. She left. And she didn’t just leave the Cities. She left us. She left the Kin.”

  ***

  My grandfather Charles, finally back from his business trip, drove me home. I remained silent during the drive, watching the snowy streets slide by. When I arrived at my house, I hesitated for a moment outside, standing on the walkway that led to the house. There was ice along the stones, but Mom had put down salt to keep us from slipping. Though a dense cloud cover blocked out the moon, I could see the path easily. Only a few steps to the door—but I paused.

  I thought of my mother leaving the Cities, the curve of her shoulders, how she didn’t look back.

  I thought of my father, the sadness in his smile, the promise he’d made her.

  You won’t be alone, he’d said. But she had been, all this time.

  I wondered if she’d ever seen him again. Somehow, I didn’t think so.

  “It’s too cold to be standing around out there. Get in here. I want to talk to you.”

  Startled, I jumped, almost losing my footing on the walkway. I turned to see my mother’s face peering out through the window of the parlor, the glass pulled open and her nose pressed against the screen. The light was poor and I couldn’t see her well, but, despite its volume, her voice hadn’t sounded angry or upset or even mildly annoyed. I gave her a quick nod and headed for the house.

  She was seated on the sofa when I entered, her legs drawn up against her and a cup of cocoa on the table beside her. She’d forgotten a coaster again. Now that I could see her, I noted that wisps of hair had come loose from her bun, and there was a slight redness to her nose, as if she’d been crying. Her hoodie lay beside her on a sofa, but she pushed it aside and patted the cushion.

  “Sit,” she instructed, and even though I was somewhat wary of whatever it was she had to say, I obeyed. We sat facing each other, not speaking. Mom had pulled the drapes closed, but faint light pushed through, into the room. I watched her face. Our eyes were the same, a deep brown without a hint of St. Croix gold, but hers seemed different now. She had no visible scars, but looking at her, I remembered the bruise that had bloomed on her face, the trace of blood on her cheek. Small, forgotten wounds.

  “Esther called me,” she said, clearing her throat. “She told me about your visit.”

  I looked down, breaking eye contact. It had been an invasion of her privacy—looking into something that had been personal to her. Even if it was my heritage, my history, as Esther had put it.

  “She said she told you about Adrian.”

  My mouth parted in surprise. Outside of the vision, it was the first time I’d heard her speak his name.

  “Look at me, Audrey.” I did, and felt tears blur the edge of my vision. “You asked me why I never told you about the Kin.”

  I nodded. My throat felt thick. I thought of the letter my father had left her. I wondered if she still had it.

  My mother took a deep breath, keep
ing her eyes steady on mine. “My entire life, I’ve been bound to the Kin. Who I am, what I do. I was called as a Guardian when I was barely fifteen, before I’d even had a chance to fully form as a person. It was only three months after my father was killed, and suddenly I was so much stronger. I was angry, and I was powerful, and I was dangerous. I wanted to make the Harrowers pay. I thought I had this new destiny to fulfill, and nothing else could get in its way. I stopped going to school. My mother couldn’t control me. The other Guardians couldn’t control me. The rest of the Kin didn’t even try.”

  She paused, watching me. I nodded again, and for a second I could see the girl she spoke of. I saw her at fifteen, a little younger than Elspeth but with so much more force; I saw the furious, haughty flash of her eyes, the certainty in her stance. Morning Star, young and bright and fearless, ready for anything. She was still there, behind my mother’s eyes.

  Mom leaned forward, taking one of my hands in hers. “It was hard, Audrey. And it hurt. My body heals quickly, and back then I thought that meant I could take any injury. I wasn’t just undisciplined, I was violent. And then—” She stopped, taking a breath. There was a catch in her voice. “Then I met Adrian. He changed me. He changed the way I saw the world. He made me a better person.”

  She didn’t have to say the next part. I knew it already. I’d seen it. She just inclined her head slightly, acknowledging, and then said, “When I lost Adrian, I thought I’d lost everything. I wasn’t angry anymore, but I felt cheated. I felt trapped.” She pulled back, releasing my hand.

  “That’s why you left?”

  “I never wanted you to feel that way,” she said. “I wanted to give you a life free of the Kin. I wanted you to be young. I didn’t want your life to be dictated by your abilities.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “But I had to return. I was needed. And now the Kin have you anyway. Esther has you. Adrian wanted me to name you after her, you know—because, he said, someday I’d forgive her.”

  “Have you?” I asked. She’d named me Esther, but she never called me that.