COME, THE DARK: (Forever Girl Series Book Two)

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Maybe it’s for the best, but a part of me doesn’t want to feel so alone in this world, even if I’m only here for a short time.

  William moves away from me and sits closer to the fire, where he sharpens a small knife with stone. A long minute passes before he speaks to me again. “If only you would use that strength for what is needed right now.”

  I give up on explaining to him the danger I sense she is in, how she needs me now. How perhaps it is better she die with me by her side than endure what she may endure without me there.

  Which is what? I don’t know. I just sense it’s horrible.

  Instead of saying these things, I play to his logic. “Tell me, William, how did I exist before this? How did I exist before I came back in time, if I could not exist in the future without being here now?”

  “I don’t know,” he snaps. “Perhaps the last time your spirit was here she was a little less self-centered.”

  “And yet clearly did not accomplish whatever it is that is expected of me now?”

  William’s scowl deepens. He won’t look at me. I jump to my feet.

  “Damn it, William! Do you even know?” I lean closer to him, my voice rising. “It doesn’t make any sense!” My throat tightens, my eyes sting, and I know the outpouring is coming if I don’t reign it in. “I just want to go home!”

  In an instant, William is on his feet, too. The stone thuds to the floor and the knife clatters by his feet. I don’t feel so strong now, but he’s not trying to intimidate me. I’m shaking for entirely different reasons. I bury my face in my hands and shake my head.

  “These timelines must exist,” William says, and his hand comes down softly to rest between my shoulder blades. “Until we get it right.”

  “For what?” I say, and the next words that tumble out of my mouth don’t come from the psyche of Cordovae or Abigail. “For World Peace? For a dream?”

  Suddenly, my Pa’s voice is in my head; just hearing it is enough to know it’s him.

  Fucking dreaming again. Always with your fucking dreams.

  That night, during his drunken rant, he smashed a glass against the wall by my head, and some of the shards from the glass bounced off my arm, and his whiskey splashed against my side and my back.

  I can’t be here for you forever, but God help me, I will fucking teach you what life is about.

  God hadn’t helped him.

  When I come out of my daze, I am sobbing and shaking, and William is holding me against his chest.

  I want to forget. That part, that man, I can forget forever. I try to find Anna somewhere in that memory, but she isn’t there, and I let it fade. I don’t fight to keep the memories of my previous life this time, for those memories harbor nothing but darkness.

  “William?” I whisper.

  He smoothes hair from my face and looks down into my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  I nod, wiping away tears with the back of my wrist. I am as all right as I can be, and William is a part of that. He is the one man I don’t fear—the one man I know would never hurt me.

  “Explain something to me,” I say. “I remember parts of my life as Rose. I remember parts of my life as Abigail. I remember every memory created since I’ve arrived here. But I don’t have any memories of Cordovae, and yet that is who I am called here to be.”

  He stares toward the fire. There are wrinkles on his face I hadn’t noticed before—on his forehead, around his eyes, even some small ones by his lips. He raises both eyebrows as his gaze returns to mine.

  “Well, at first, we thought people like you were the Universe’s first attempts at making spirit elementals—our missing link. But there is a distinction, and perhaps that may help you understand.”

  “But no one really can know, can they, if spirit elementals do not yet exist?”

  William shakes a finger at me. “You catch on quickly. Yes, these are only rumors. But let’s just say our source is fairly reputable.”

  “And what does your source tell you?”

  “Well, it’s believed the Forever Girls will be killed before their time, but their spirits will stay with their lineage. Reincarnation.”

  “But I was reincarnated.”

  William frowns. “We thought people like you had been reincarnated, but your previous life did not end. You aren’t really here, not completely. One day, you will go back. You can become one with other spirits or you can separate from them or you can take their place for a short time. But in the end, you’re just...visiting.” He shifts beside me, and I sense a new distance budding—not physical, but perhaps mental or emotional. “Because your ancestor was an Ankou, you were a Seer. When we needed more Ankou, the most effective solution was to initiate Seers, because they are already familiar with Seeing. You weren’t born an elemental, you see? You were chosen for this.”

  “And a Forever Girl is not a Seer or Ankou?”

  “Let me put it this way: you can join with the spirit of your ancestors,” he says. “A Forever Girl, however, is the same spirit. It moves only when the body dies. If they ever did join with a spirit, they would all become one. They can only go forward, through their lineage. They don’t move like you; they only reincarnate.”

  “Why Cordovae?” I ask. “Why her spirit?”

  “Because she is the one who has brought the ability to See into your ancestry. She must have been an Ankou who bred with a human sometime before her death. Seeing is just a gift you inherited.”

  “Do you at least know where she’s from?”

  William shakes his head “By her name, I would guess maybe she was around during the Spanish Inquisition. Cordovae is a very old Spanish name.”

  “But it’s not my name. So why were you told to call on me by this name?”

  “Does it feel right to you?”

  “Yes...I suppose...”

  “And did it effectively help you see that we could be trusted?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Would you prefer I call you something else?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then stop worrying about these things. Embrace who you are right now and what you are meant to do. The reality is, you will always be joined with her,” he says. “Or connected in some way.”

  “What about the Morts?” I ask. “Don’t they reincarnate, too?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Or, rather, we reincarnate them. Morts and Forever Girls can both reincarnate, but it’s hardly the same. Forever Girls come from a mortal existence and are made immortal through reincarnation, while Morts were immortal before they died. But you—you are special.” He smiles. “You still own your life.”

  I’m not sure I own my life, considering, but I understand what he means. When Rose dies, I’ll be separated from Cordovae. Cordovae’s spirit will live on with another ancestor, where I will just...end. Completely. I am not sure how that is more desirable than the immortality the Forever Girls achieve through reincarnation.

  “If my ancestor was an Ankou before she died, then why didn’t she become a Mort?”

  William’s eyebrows pull together. “She did. That’s how she joins with you now, how she joins with and visits her descendants when she needs to. No honorable Ankou would move a Mort that the Universe doesn’t intend to be moved.”

  I’m not sure I’ll ever understand this all. The way Cord is part of me and yet who I have become at the same time. But there’s still other questions I have—questions that are more important to get answers to.

  “If I’m Ankou, then I’m immortal, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So then how do I get back?” It always comes down to that question. The question of returning.

  William’s lip rubs against his teeth. “I know this is a hard world to understand. Do you think any world is easy?”

  I shake my head. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand it.”

  “Right,” he says, giving a single nod. “Your life right now, even though you are here, is your life as Rose. You are just v
isiting. Abigail is the life you visit, and her life will become her own again once you leave. Cordovae, however, is the ancestral spirit that ties you both together. She is the one who has granted you the ability to See. Abigail is the one who has become Ankou, for this is her body. Not yours.”

  I sway back. I didn’t think of that, and now guilt wrenches my gut. I have taken over her body and made decisions about it that were not mine to make. William must read the alarm on my face, because he pulls me back in and runs his fingertips down my spine.

  “She would have done the same thing,” he whispers, but there’s a strain in his voice. Does he feel as badly as I do? Who is he trying to convince?

  I close my eyes. I’m too tired to make sense of it all, and Cordovae’s consciousness is a welcoming shadow that hides the life I once led. But through the tears and heartache that yet remain over a memory I can’t recall, I am aware I’ve remembered something. I have hope. Hope that I can find a way to remember Anna and get back to her. Hope that I will remember the right things next time, remember my way back.

  What do I do now? Do I stick around with the odds of death being higher now that the Marked Ones and the Maltorim are after us? Or do I run even though now, more than ever, I’m needed to protect the future...which by default means protecting Anna? If I fail, there will be no Anna to return to. I’ll never get to see her again, not even one last time.

  I still don’t know how to get back, but I know that I will not let myself fail my daughter again. As much as it kills me inside, I will stay. I will fight.

  There’s no turning back now.

  But the question that yet remains is...how? With the Maltorim working against us, and little resources to overcome them, where will we go from here?

  Emotionally exhausted, I bury my face against William’s chest, hiding the saltwater tears that slide down to my lips. I hate that he is part of the world that keeps me from my Anna, and I hate him for his kindness that makes my tears come all too easily.

  But most of all, I hate that I need him right now.

  January 1692

  The cabin door slams closed, and candles rattle on the tabletop nearby. I startle, turning slowly to see that Tess has returned, and she is not alone. I step back at the appearance of a dark, attractive man with long, finely woven hair who stands well over a foot taller than her. William’s Adam’s apple bobs, and he quickly distances himself from me. The moment between him and me is like a spell that has been broken, a sudden sobriety from the time we just shared.

  I look back to Tess’ companion. The room has gotten colder and darker since the moment he stepped in. The warm golden glow that had been in the room just moments before is replaced by a pale gray aura.

  I stare at the fire and, seeing it’s dying now, I chastise myself for my silly thoughts. I worry at my lip, trying to take the man in without judgment. He’s dressed in a sleeveless cotton shirt that reveals his toned biceps and the same relaxed cotton pants William wears. It’s as though elementals have their own dress code that the rest of the world is unaware even exists. How do they travel unnoticed?

  My gaze drifts down, and when I see his hand resting at the small of Tess’ back, something puffs up within me. I don’t like this guy, or the way he looks at me as though my existence is confusing or offensive. He stares at me as though he’s seen a ghost, but I see ghosts every day, and it’s nothing to dwell on.

  But Tess seems comfortable with him, smiling in a way she doesn’t smile when she’s just around William and me. Her medieval dress floats more when she walks, and her boots glide more than clomp. Soft, dark brown strands of hair escape her long braid, framing her face, and her raddish-stained lips have softened in color. Her cheeks are flushed an even, pale pink, and her whole demeanor has brightened, turned into this weightless presence in the room.

  This girl, this young woman who has hardened herself against the world and seems to avoid emotional connection, is in love. And she doesn’t know it.

  I eye the man warily but say nothing.

  William tips his head toward the man and gives a curt, “Adrian,” as though the name alone is a greeting.

  “William,” the man says with the same clipped tone.

  Tess turns to me. “Cord, this is Adrian,” she says, in case I am too stupid to have gathered that much. “He is the only person who can help us right now. He knows more about the Maltorim than any other rogue out there.”

  “Rogue?” I ask.

  “A Cruor who has no affiliation with the Maltorim. We are very lucky to have him here. He helped us the last time we were in trouble, though admittedly the circumstances weren’t quite as dire as they are now.”

  I’m not prepared to put my trust in yet another stranger. I look to William for some kind of feedback, any non-verbal tick to clue me in on how I should respond right now. But William is absorbed with sharpening his already-sharp knife again. No knife could ever be sharp enough to cut the tension in the room right now.

  Adrian clasps his hands in front of him, and I feel better now that his hand is off Tess. I hate to judge him, to let my overactive senses distract me, but I know when someone is hiding something. And Adrian’s secrets burn deep.

  He strolls farther into the cabin, bringing with him the distinct smell of coal.

  “Nice to meet you, Adrian,” I mumble finally, though I feel uncomfortable being the one to break the awkward silence.

  “As it is to meet you,” he says. He reaches out to shake my hand, and I repress a shudder at his icy touch. His hands are so cold it’s unnerving. “We have little time to resolve the mess you’ve created—”

  “The mess we created? You mean the mess they created!” William says testily, but Adrian continues as though William hasn’t said a word.

  “—so we will commence discussing the plan immediately. Please keep in mind I can make no promises. I can only take your hopeless situation and give you hope.”

  Is he serious?

  “Tess and William will distract the Maltorim soldiers by addressing the Mort population on the surrounding lands, drawing the Marked Ones away from the settlement,” Adrian begins. “Meanwhile, the Maltorim know nothing of Cordovae, making her the perfect ghost. She is to return to her settlement and remain under her human guise. At night, she will exterminate the local Morts undetected, while the Marked Ones are distracted with William and Tess. Any questions?”

  I don’t like this guy. He’s bossy, talks like he knows it all, and comes across as rude. I don’t like the rushed feeling he gives off, as though I’m not supposed to think about the things he’s said before committing to his plan.

  “Yes, I have a question,” I say.

  He frowns, then says, “Hmm?”

  “A Mort is after one of my friends. I’ve seen it following her around during the day. It follows her everywhere—how am I supposed to get rid of it without being seen?”

  “If the Mort overtakes your friend, it can use your friend to turn the town against you. You must get rid of that Mort first, before all else. You absolutely cannot, at any cost, allow that Mort to overtake your friend. I hope you understand my urgency. You will return immediately to your settlement to resolve this. Whatever you do, be certain no one sees you doing this as that could sacrifice both your life and the goals of you and your comrades altogether.”

  Did he listen to a word I said?I just asked how not to be seen. I already knew I couldn’t let anyone see me. “I understand that, but—”

  “No buts.” He claps his hands together, and it’s like thunder in the room, silencing me. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” I say, a little annoyed by him rushing such an important discussion. “Why is the Maltorim doing this?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” Adrian offers dejectedly, “but it is not up to us to determine their reasons or analyze what they are up to. It is up to us to mediate the problem at hand as quickly and cleanly as we can. Now, let’s get to work.”

  A pit grows in my stomach. Something i
s off about this guy. Why is he avoiding discussion? We can’t be in that much of a rush . . .

  Can we?

  Just as I’m thinking this man cannot be trusted, a dizzy spell rushes my head, and I’m thrust into an unwelcomed fragment.

  I’m in my room. My Pa hovers over of me. The blanket seems like it’s weighing him down, holding him there, like he’ll never move, never take himself off of me. I used to fight it, but he would just pin my arms over my head and clamp his dirty farm-hand over my mouth so hard that my lips crushed against my teeth. My arm is still broken from the last time I fought him.

  Mama passes the room, her eyes full of tears, peeking through the cracked-open door. She swallows and looks away quickly, then disappears down the hall. I keep staring at that crack in the door, willing her to come back, to stop him, to save me, but even my own Mama has betrayed me since the Darkness came. I’m black inside. I’ll never be whole again. And I’m dead. Just a lifeless doll, waiting to be tossed away, to finally have this misery end.

  When I come back from my fragment, I’m outside, vomiting in frostbitten grass beneath the cover of a cloudy night sky. Pa is Anna’s father. Bitter acid burns the back of my throat. I’m so shaky I feel the trembling will never go away. There’s a crunch of dry snow behind me, then William is standing at my side. I can hear his voice but not what he’s saying. Then it starts to get louder, clearer.

  “Cord? I asked if you’re all right. What happened?”

  I spit on the ground, wipe my mouth with my wrist, and shake my head. “Nothing.”

  My birthmark peeks out from my dress, and I quickly pull my sleeve back down to cover my wrist. The birthmark reminds me of Anna, as it always has, and now my dread has doubled. She is alone with that man, and the danger he poses to her is worse than I had remembered.