"Del … Del … Del-uh-no gooone."
My heart pounded. My weight shifted, foot to foot. What do I do? What happened? Did a sniffer ambush him while he slept? Did the Realm take revenge on the darkling who'd helped me, the changeling they'd lost twice? Did I face managing Delano's territory alone? My stomach twisted. That's impossible unless I take darkshine magic.
"Gone," the moths sighed. "Deluh-nooo gaaaah-n."
"Stop! He's not dead! He—" My breath caught, hitching my chest.
"Gone! Gone! Gaaahn!"
The night's grief shivered in my marrow. "No! Del!" My legs tightened, ready to run. "Del! Del!"
"Hey! Whoah! What's wrong?"
I spun around, my heart leaping; the coyote yipped. Delano looked stunned in his weathered leather jacket and jeans, an inky cloud dissipating around him. He dropped a Chinese takeout bag and a six-pack of toilet paper as I threw myself into his arms.
"Oh thank God!" I burst into tears and pressed my lips to his. We both tensed, startled; my body-heat rushed to the lure of his magic. I tasted cinnamon gum—warm spice on cold lips—as his hand cupped my back and pulled me tighter.
I jerked away and whacked my hands against his chest. "Wh-Where were you?" I demanded, wiping and diverting my eyes.
Delano blinked rapidly, as if I yammered gibberish. "Frank's," he said, lifting a thin wad of twenties from his jacket.
Frank. His pawn broker.
"I thought he only stayed late on Wednesdays!"
"It is Wednesday."
My brow furrowed, then I groaned as my mental calendar flipped. I'd been so preoccupied learning magic with Delano at night, and balancing those energies during the day, my dates had jumbled. I sagged against a sugar pine, gripping my chest. "Jesus Christ. I thought you died."
"You felt the darkling death?" Delano's gaze narrowed as he judged the redness of my irises, estimating how much night magic I harbored, and how much light I hadn't taken to counter during the day.
"I feared it was you."
Delano often ogled me unabashedly, but now he stared with an expression I can't quite describe. A mixture of awe and disbelief and … something else. I'd repetitively caught this stare over the past months—often while I washed dishes or scanned his books—a look which suggested he lived a mundane existence (like a lonesome Appalachian wife, perhaps), then, before him, emerged a being of magic.
"I'm here." He slid his knuckles down my cheek. I breathed him in, soil and cedar wafting from his skin like posh cologne. He wore darkness like a tailored suit, the wind like silk. He wasn't a presence, but a penetration, as if he wove himself into the fabric of his territory.
Shadows shuddered beneath his touch, rippling a sexual charge across my skin. My throat yearned for his lips; my mind warned his teeth would tear out my jugular. My body craved his fingers; my mind screeched he'd claw into my heart.
I turned my head and his hand retreated. "Do you know who died?"
Delano released a slow, controlled breath. His irises were freshly waning. "Our south neighbor."
"Bavol or Jenara?"
Or, God forbid, both.
Delano closed his eyes to hear the Earth. His body rocked to an unheard rhythm, circling hips and undulating chest. His fingertips tapped the air as if playing keys. He reminded me of seaweed swaying in a current, his motions mesmerizing. "Jenara. Only the feminine half is cut from the energy."
He knew! Just like that! As if making a phone call! The night had invaded me, garbled my thoughts and magics in a painful, undecipherable jabber which made me believe Delano had died. Good grief, I would've believed twenty darklings were dead. I glowered, seething, wanting to spit bitterness from my mouth.
You believe I betray you? the night whispered inside my bones. You use me, play with me, but refuse to commit to your changeling birthright.
I shoved that assertion away, focused on being angry at the night. Maybe I acted ridiculous, but I preferred anger over facing how pathetically weaker my abilities were compared to a darkling, night and cold's rightful wielder. Or that, no matter how much I trained, I'd never be a darkling unless I committed my long life to the darkshine. Committed centuries to Delano.
Just do it, fool, my mother sneered inside my head. Most people would kill to inherit such magical powers or find a lover like him! Especially someone as plain and ordinary as you. You're avoiding your shot at worth and happiness.
Possibly. But that reasoning had duped me before. I'd married the hot older guy who promised protection, acceptance, and social worth … and I didn't get a fairytale. Instead, I discovered outer beauty could hide inner ugliness, kindness could disguise cruelty, and a marriage could morph into a prison sentence.
I didn't care what incredible powers I'd gain if I took the darkshine, or how amazing my promised partner seemed. Nothing was worth repeating my past or risking my freedom. I never wanted to feel owned again. Not emotionally. Not psychologically. And especially not physically, which was what the darkshine did. The Earth could force demands on darklings. The planet owned them. And the more the Earth forced, the more the darkling conduit was strained. With the darkling population actively decreasing, and energies pumped through fewer and fewer individuals, it was likely the Earth's demands would start costing lives.
Delano picked up the toilet paper and Chinese takeout. "Let's go. I'm teaching you something new tonight," he said, speaking as if he'd become accustomed to the increasing darkling murders. But as we headed through the woods, a great gray owl hoo-hooing behind us, I caught him steal nervous glances at the southern horizon.
CHAPTER THREE
"I am not licking that."
"Oh come on!" Delano said.
"No! It's dirty!"
Delano sighed. "You naughty student. How can I teach you if you refuse to experiment?"
We crouched on our knees in tangy meadow grasses. Conifers and dogwoods surrounded the two-acre clearing. A coyote rested at the edge of the woods, three feet behind me, its head on its paws. My flashlight illuminated Delano's soil-stained fingertip pointing at my face. In the mine, Delano loved his soaps and mouthwashes. Up here, hands and dirt became one, like roots to earth.
I twisted my lips. "I'm not licking your dirty finger, Del."
"It's the easiest way to test for bacterial deficiencies."
Delano loved bacteria and fungus and everything opposite of appealing and fun.
"Why can't we return to budding management or current regulation?" I asked.
"Because you're proficient at those. We must move on."
Crickets chirped. I stared at his dirty finger. "What about something exciting, like darkness binding or frost formations?"
"That's darkling magic. Do you want to take the darkshine tonight?" he asked. My eyes flicked to the side. "Didn't think so. Besides, working with bacteria is an honor. If humans cared about bacteria and worms as much as they cared about trees and pandas, this planet would be much better off." An impish grin spread across his face. "Now do what I tell you, changeling, and lick my finger."
I sighed. My tongue tapped his fingertip. His grin widened. I rolled my eyes, fighting a smile.
"It tastes like dirt," I said.
"It tastes like healthy dirt," Delano replied. "Feel that tingling?"
"No."
"No?"
"No! It just tastes like dirt."
Delano snapped his fingers. "Sorry. I forgot to tell you to intake magic." He dug his finger into the ground, searching for a sample. "You need to do it again."
I laughed. "You're so full of it."
"Honest mistake, I swear!" Delano unearthed an earthworm and set it aside.
"Do I need to use night magic or can I pull from the soil?"
"It doesn't matter," Delano said, covering the worm with loose dirt.
The Big Dipper stared from the heavens as if auditing our lesson. I bit my lip, debating. Night's magic activated after sunset, but light's magic always hummed in the air, the earth, the plants, the warmth, like
a never ending melody. Delano explained it as being able to see a light in the dark, but never seeing a dark in the light … whatever that meant. Most magic was cryptic and I'd stopped questioning details months ago to reduce my headaches. Regardless, with Earth work and repair, both magics functioned. Usually. Light's magic was constant, but weaker, and required more energy and concentration. But unless you were a darkling (who can't wield light magic, anyway), it was safer. Night's magic was powerful, its coldness gripping. Wielding it produced a seductive, intoxicating effect, like knocking back a few shots and getting behind a steering wheel. Maybe nothing would happen on the drive home. Maybe you'd rumble the stay-awakes or tag a few orange cones. Or maybe you'd careen through a guardrail and crash to a fiery death.
Or in my case, awaken in the darkshine, be forced into an inescapable marriage, forfeit warmth and a daytime life, become prey to genocidal faeries, and submit to the Earth's whims, for centuries.
Of course, prohibition produces bustling black markets for a reason. My eyes rolled behind closed lids as I summoned night's magical high into me. Ice water bulged my veins. My flashlight's beam curved toward me, my inner darkness gobbling its light and fueling me like gasoline.
Shadows rippled through the meadow, eager for commands. "Better?" I asked.
Delano breathed in our combined magic. "Perfect." My throat tightened. The glint in his eyes was so feral, so lecherous, I nearly heard my panties rip between his teeth. Delano pointed his dirty finger at my face. "Now lick me."
Our eyes held each other. His tongue moistened his lips. I never got the physical relationship I had desired with my husband, Sam,—
Ex-husband! I reminded myself. Ex! That past is gone. Divorce doesn't need to be legal to be true.
—and now Delano desired a more physical relationship with me, but I was too scared to commit or surrender. His mouth twitched, barely visible, like the shoulders of a wildcat jerking before pouncing. I swallowed, then tapped my tongue against his fingertip. My head tweaked in surprise. It was like licking a battery.
"See? Obvious. Now we'll go somewhere depleted and you'll taste the difference." Delano stood and helped me to my feet. "Bacteria manipulation is sluggish and takes meticulous energy, but you learn quick. Plus, I need the help. I can't meet the demands alone. The rebels manage only their camp, and the Realm abolished most of their bacterial custodians." He glowered at the ground. "Killing this planet one microbe at a time."
The coyote stretched and yawned. A flying squirrel glided from the tree-line, its belly and webbing flashing white in the nighttime stillness. It landed on Delano's left shoulder, then scuttled across his nape to the right and picked at his shirt pocket. Delano pulled out a snack-size box of raisins and opened the lid. I smiled as the flying squirrel plucked out handfuls and stuffed its cheeks, chittering. Delano chittered back, blending him more with the wild than with civilization.
The coyote marked a tree, then trotted into the woods. We followed. "Why is the Earth picky about bacteria, but doesn't care if you interfere with the wildlife's natural diet?"
Delano shrugged as the flying squirrel scurried up an oak. "Trying to understand the Earth's demands is like trying to understand the mind of God. Delving too deep makes you crazy, yet questioning is pointless. Despite my lack of understanding, that insanity creates everything. It created me. It created you."
"And what about God?" I asked.
Delano stopped. "What about God?"
"Do you believe?"
Delano blinked. And blinked. His expression morphed into that uneasy look of discovering magic, and I'd've sworn fright flickered across his face. "Um, my verdict is still out," he said, slipping black hair behind folded ear-tips. "I think there's something. Life is too damn weird to not have something. But I dunno what."
He turned to me, a strange tension radiating off him. My muscles stiffened. I expected him to disclose something gruesome about his history, something not even God could forgive. Did parents beat him if he broke a commandment? I wondered. Did prayers for mercy go unanswered? Did he—?
Delano cleared his throat. "What about you? Do you, uh, believe in God?"
The tension dissolved. My shoulders relaxed. "I did as a child, but now?" I shrugged. "Although, if God exists, I doubt they're as cruel as my mother insists."
"I hope not. I don't want to burn."
"Oh, please! You'd never burn."
Delano grunted and kicked flecks of bark off a tree stump. "Yeah, well, I—"
A coyote howled in the distance. Delano whipped around and glared into the darkness, tense as a bowstring.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"Faeries."
"Realm or Rebels?" Fight or annoyance?
Delano howled—Ahhrrrooo!—mimicking the call exactly. Moments later, a coyote responded.
"Rebels. Cham wants to meet." Delano's tone suggested he preferred a Realm fight. His shoulders drooped. "I don't trust him."
"You don't trust anyone."
"Why should I?"
I sighed. Rebels and darklings shared a common enemy, yet rarely associated. Day and night magics didn't mingle, physically or socially, and meeting with rebels was like slashing a highlighter across my existence. If Delano held criticisms about me studying both magics, he kept them private. The rebels, however, watched me with narrow eyes and tense postures. I got the impression they regarded me as a distorted familiarity which made their neurons crawl and their hair stand on end, as if they'd arrived for Thanksgiving dinner and found a roasted flamingo.
I forced a smile. "Perhaps they bring good news."
"What the fools better bring are my batteries," he grumbled, then darted through the forest.
I followed, observing in my night vision's blues and grays. Delano didn't move through the land, he danced, as if the trees were violinists and the stars played cellos, and the world was a ballroom he enjoyed all to himself. His territory contained the Stanislaus National Forest and a scattering of small towns to the west. Wilderness dominated. Evergreens. Boulders. Mountains. Streams.
Darklings viciously guarded their territories, a major obstacle in uniting darklings against the Realm, despite the ongoing genocide. Their magic became unstable and erratic when they crossed borders, and the land generally suffered.
Rebels had no territory holdups, but, despite my pleas, Delano refused to unite for survival, insisting rebels would backstab anyone to benefit themselves.
We flew for miles on darkness and wind and coyote wails. Shadows puffed beneath Delano's feet when he landed in the sleeping town of Strawberry, its population a whopping eighty-six. We crouched on the tiny post office roof across from the general store. A creek babbled over rocks behind us. Frost crawled down the building and branched onto the street. Moments later, the branch toward the store steamed and a cloud of mud dauber wasps spread across the lot, hunting for Realm spyders, their natural prey.
Delano and I slid down the darkness when Cham, the local rebel leader, stepped from behind the general store. Denial kept me smiling. This time might be different. Our relationships might grow, strengthen.
Cham's neat, soft features reminded me of city parks and English gardens. He never wore buttons. Ever. Fabric ties filled their places. He was the only rebel who did this, but I didn't know why. Unlike Realm sniffers, who typically carried only a knife and bullwhip, or sentries who toted only rifles and radios, Cham's tactical vest was loaded with knives and magazines and flash-bangs. Two handguns hung off his belt, an AK hung across his back. I shook my head, sighing. The sniffers and sentries always quickened my heart, but Cham reminded me of a squid wearing boxing gloves. Sure, those swings and jabs and uppercuts looked menacing, until you realized a spineless, gelatinous creature threw each punch.
Nine new recruits gathered behind Cham, their eyes wide on the darkling, rifles rattling awkwardly in their hands. Cham found a new group of Lost Boys. My heart broke. I didn't need to know their stories; they carried fear and histories like smallpox scars. Th
ey were typically everyday citizens who woke up to the Realm's lies and despotism, and fled when a chance presented. Some sought freedom or safety from the Realm's totalitarianism, but never found it. Most sought revenge, a seemingly impossible reach. All sought a Peter Pan to lead them, to make them strong. Instead they found struggle, paranoia, and their hair hacked off and sold. It was as if the rebels couldn't organize into a force because they were too busy surviving.
Vina stood with them. I winced, worrying she had relayed our incident, further damaging darkling reputation and, even worse, any chance at uniting. Believing Delano had died still wormed in my stomach, and I feared we'd all perish unless we fought together. I expected Vina to avoid eye-contact or pretend to not recognize me. Instead, she flashed me a smile. I blinked, then smiled back.
Delano inserted himself between me and the rebels, towering over Cham. "My deep-cycles better be charged," he growled. Shadows coiled around his feet like living tendrils. The recruits stepped away.
"They're behind the store." Cham smirked arrogantly. "And I have something else you'll want."
"Unless it's cash, I'm uninterested."
"I'll pay cash if you allow moisture."
Delano crossed his arms. "No."
"You let snow on the mountain summits."
"Then fly to the summits."
"Oh come on," Cham griped. "My sinuses feel crammed with roofing shingles."
"Suffer. The Earth demands a quota and there's nothing I can do about it. The bark beetles need to devastate and the land needs to prep for flame. Once completed the Earth will release my chokehold and California can flood for all I care." Delano glared at Cham's soldiers. "So stop your recruits from trifling with my dark and cold magics. Earth is staying dry no matter how much they tamper."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't insult me," Delano sneered. "I feel each time a faerie meddles with darkling magic."
Delano and Cham bickered over magical rights, respect, duties. My hope for unity crashed like always. Vina shook her head and rolled her eyes at me, then we tucked into our shoulders, silently giggling. She reminded me of the type of woman who sat on counters instead of chairs, who sang to cheer up gloomy houseplants.
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