Dark Ember

by R. D. Vallier

  "Ah, Delano. So glad you came." James shook Delano's hand, his smile seeming too sincere.

  "Hello, James. Thanks for hosting," Delano said, making no effort to smile at all.

  James's eyes shifted to me, ruddy and sparkling. His voice was as smooth as his shirt's white silk. "I see you brought your changeling." The crowd grinned to the word's emphasis, encircling us in teeth. "It's Miriam, correct?"

  "Yes." I shook the cold hand he offered, his grip firm.

  James's eyes slid from my thighs to my breasts. "Well, I see what the fuss was about." His magic sniffed around my ankles, then up my legs with the uncomfortable feeling of slipping on wet jeans. I slammed my magic like a mousetrap. He jerked, then glowered. "Enjoy the refreshments," he said, and turned his attention to the rest of his party.

  Delano's grip on my arm tightened as we walked away. "I think I insulted him," I whispered.

  "Good. He needs his head deflated. Let's go eat all his food."

  We left our champagne and Delano's folder at our seats, then headed to the buffet. Most darklings smiled politely (albeit curiously) when we passed, but their mannerisms shifted after glimpsing my miner wings. Tight lips. Wide eyes. Sucked teeth. The manifestations varied, but the core igniter was the same—I represented an elephant in their party. I proved life had changed, that tyranny crept onto their doorstep. I was a physical reminder of approaching destruction. Their destruction.

  "This dress was a mistake," I whispered to Delano as we entered the buffet line. "My wings make people uncomfortable."

  "You think a miner tattoo with one line cut out makes them nervous?" Delano snorted and unbuttoned his sleeves. "Watch this."

  "What are you doing?"

  He pulled off his shirt and tied the sleeves around his waist. "A miner tattoo with flogging scars really freaks them out."

  "Del!" I protested, but his cocky strut soon had me giggling. He handed me a plate and utensils. A whispering couple passed us, staring as if we were a horse head in their bedsheets.

  My nose crinkled as we drifted along the buffet. "There sure are lots of turkey entrees."

  Delano found an elaborate veggie tray and a platter of pesto quesadillas. Across from us, a man scooped turkey salad onto his plate. He laughed when Delano bit a celery stick. "Vegetables, Delano? I thought you ate only Hot Pockets."

  The man's chin slammed the tabletop. Fwap! Turkey salad splattered the buffet. "Watch your mouth!" Delano snapped, his magic snaking beneath the table.

  "What the hell?" The guy brushed turkey chunks off his chest as he stood. "It was a joke!"

  My wide-eyes blinked. Joke? Huh?

  A hand clapped Delano's shoulder. "We need to talk," Weldon said as Turkey Chunks glowered and skulked off. "Privately."

  "He insulted—"

  Weldon waved dismissively. "Forget him. I'm sure the jackass deserved it. It's business." He smiled warmly at me. "Mind if I steal him a moment, darlin'?"

  "Of course not."

  "This isn't a good—" Delano started.

  "Trust me. Ya need to see this."

  Weldon steered Delano to the doors. Cramps flared up my leg. My shoes grew fangs and gnawed my toes. I loaded my plate with pesto quesadillas and headed to our seats, but stopped short near a platter of cheesecake. Oh, damn. I grimaced, then stuffed a quesadilla into my mouth and slid a slice of strawberry heaven into its place.

  "Have you sworn allegiance to the Fatherland?"

  "Rrrumph?" I managed through chewing. Two women cornered me against the table. The one who had spoken looked serious, as though reporting a tragedy. A tsunami perhaps, or a nuclear explosion. The other woman's eyebrows pinched as if her wide smile required great effort to maintain. Both wore floor length, floral-print dresses. Diamonds sparkled along their necks and wrists, and their French manicures gleamed. I hadn't even thought about my nails. My dull, bitten nails. I curled my fingers beneath my plate.

  "Only the Fathers can save the darklin's," the serious woman said. I couldn't place her fast accent of soft Rs. Her words came out Fathahs and dahklins. "Not strategies or meetin's or magic or flesh." The other woman nodded solemnly, yet smiled wide.

  I swallowed. "Oh, well." I coughed on a wad of tortilla, my eyes watering. "I'm—" Cough! "—not a darkling yet, but—" Cough! "I'll consider—"

  "There's no considerin'. Only faith shall save us," Serious said. "You know what the Fathers did?"

  I dabbed my eye, mascara smudging my thumb. "Um, abandonment?"

  Serious gasped. "The Fathers sacrificed for us! They left to test our devotion!" They-uh. A moth landed on the rim of her glass, uncurled its tongue to taste the champagne. "The Fathers shall not return to Earth until darklin's prove their devotion. Then light and darkness shall meld, evil shall be banished, division eradicated, and the true believers shall walk both frequencies as one under the Fathers' lovin' rule." Walk-uh.

  Smiles nodded. "It is prophesied." She handed me a pamphlet from her clutch. My eyes bulged. On the cover, light tore through a screaming nude darkling. Blood squirted from his orifices. All of his orifices. The top read: The Fathers shall come "like frenzied steeds of thy piety who pulleth a carriage aflame." (Boreas's Prophecy, Pg. 467)

  "The Fathers blessed us with our bodies and power," Serious whispered, as if this information was only for us. "Only they can deliver salvation, but they've locked their kingdom's doors."

  "Oh, Miriam!" Thida bounded into our conversation, beaming, and wedged herself between me and the darklings. "You must let me borrow your dress sometime."

  "But, er—" I stammered.

  Thida addressed the women. "Ain't she a vision? Why, I believe she's the most beautiful lady here. Don't y'all agree?"

  The women bridled. "We were tellin'—Miriam, is it?—how to reach salvation."

  Thida pressed her hand to her chest, gave a closed-mouth awww. "Bless your hearts, takin' on such responsibility. Let me steal her a moment, relieve your burden so y'all can enjoy the party."

  Thida hooked our arms and led me to the conference tables before they could protest. My thigh howled about our pace. My shoes gnashed. I held my breath to keep from grimacing, forcing myself to not limp.

  Thida patted my wrist. "Sorry 'bout them. I promise we're not all lunatics, despite that word being a darklin' derivative."

  I glanced behind me. The women looked like normal partygoers, flaunting French manicures and jewels, sipping from lipstick-stained glasses. "Is anything they said true?" I asked Thida. The bleeding eyes of the pamphlet's tortured darkling met mine. The dismal image niggled my reptilian brain, brewing a sick density in my gut. "I mean, if the Realm passage is open, shouldn't the Fathers' world be, too?"

  Thida chuckled kindly. "The Fathers abandoned Earth forever. The Progeny are like children, unable to cope with an unlovin' daddy. We're on our own, and losin'. I think deep down they know, but deny. So they cling to 2,500 year-old writin's from a darklin' they believe a prophet. Never mind he lived in a cave with high radon levels. Course he saw visions! The man was higher than a kite for three centuries. But that don't fit their narrative."

  I rubbed my forehead. Thida followed my eyes to the pamphlet. "Aw, ain't that sweet! Instead of spendin' time helpin' their territories, they made propaganda to scare the piss outta everybody." She shook her head, sighing. "I swear, those women are as classy as a Tijuana cock-fight." She scanned the crowd. Her stare stopped on a woman in a sparkling paisley maxi dress, her black hair artfully crowning her head. Thida grinned and tugged my arm. "You must meet Amaya. She's from the mid-west, too. Written several books on local flora and fauna, and an overall amazin' lady."

  Amaya. I knew that name. The darkling who slugged Delano when he trespassed on her territory to help me on a miserable New Year's Eve. I set my plate and glass next to Delano's folder. "I'd love to," I said, rubbing my thigh, "but I need the restroom."

  "By all means. Come see us when you're done."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I released a huge brea
th as the banquet hall's door closed behind me, then stepped out of my high heels, groaning with relief. Blisters bloomed on my pinky toes and if they had mouths they'd be hissing. I figured nobody would notice if I disappeared for five minutes to recoup my strength. I limped toward the restrooms, carrying my shoes and reading the pamphlet.

  Darklings must repent (Boreas's Prophecy, Pg. 1,275) and devote thy hearts to the Fatherland (Boreas's Prophecy, Pg. 2,138) so the portal shall reopen (Boreas's Prophecy, Pg. 363). The Fathers shall [then] return with war to end all wars (Boreas's Prophecy, Pg. 896), darkness shall […] merge with light (Boreas's Prophecy, Pg. 9), and fae believers shall be delivered peace and redemption. (Boreas's Prophecy, Pg. 1,764)

  Dread filled me. Feelings are just feelings, I reminded myself. They don't make anything true. The pamphlet was the propaganda of many religions. Even my mother spouted how hardships which happened to non-Catholics were God's punishment. (Although hardships mostly happened to Catholics because God had grander plans.) Yet the women's sermon frightened me. Not because tragedies could happen, but what if they preached the word of demons, and—

  "—worried, as is Thida. It ain't natural, Del. And everyone's talkin'."

  I stopped short at the intersection for the bathrooms, Weldon's voice carrying around the corner.

  "Let them flap their mouths," Delano said. "I don't care."

  "Do ya care about Miriam? Cuz she's who's gonna get hurt," Weldon said. "Fae can't handle both magics, especially night's, for long. Hell, that's why darklin's exist!"

  I inhaled a sharp breath, my conscience igniting warning flares. I shouldn't eavesdrop.

  I pressed myself against the wall and leaned my ear toward the corner.

  "She feels fine and we've had no issues," Delano said. "Besides, have you seen those supposed repercussions? I haven't."

  "Cuz it ain't done. Ya want Miriam to test that?" Weldon sounded close. I guessed if he stepped a foot back I'd enter his eyesight. Delano, farther away, mumbled too low to hear. "Jesus, what's the holdup then? It's been five months."

  "I know! I know! It's just…" Delano groaned. "It's complicated. I … I can't do it."

  "Pfffft! You wield the most seductive force on the planet, yet you're sayin' ya can't seduce her into the darkshine?"

  "Of course I can," Delano said. "I almost did after the stupid mocking—" He sighed. "Never mind. I won't. It feels violating, and she's too sweet, too caring, too thoughtful." He chuckled breezily. "And she's completely oblivious to how amazing and strong she is or—"

  Weldon guffawed. My heart pounded, sweaty palms against the wall. "Oh, Lord! Wipe that grin off your face! People gonna think you're in love with her or somethin'." His laughter faded. A tense pause rippled. "Oh, fuck. You're jokin', right? Oh, fuck!"

  Oh Fuh-huh … huh? A lump clogged my throat. Another party murmured behind the walls. No, no! That's impossible because I'm not a darkling or—

  Shut up, brain! I need to hear this! I screamed internally, and leaned closer to the corner.

  "It's no big deal," Delano said.

  "The hell it ain't!" Weldon snapped. His boot heels shuffled and clicked. He released a long breath. "Ah, maaaan. Okay, okay. This is just hormones. You're all mixed up, buddy. Been alone too long. We'll push Miriam into the darkshine and fix this mess."

  "I don't want to fix this," Delano said.

  "Why not?" Weldon said, loud enough his voice echoed off the embellished walls. My thumbnail clicked against my shoe's buckle. "You're talkin' crazy-talk! Everybody wants the instant-love of fairytales, but only darklin's get it. Our Fathers gave us that gift and you're throwin' it out for brain chemicals and guaranteed heartache."

  "I wouldn't call emotional manipulation a gift," Delano sneered.

  Weldon scoffed. "Are ya sayin' I don't actually love Thida? Ya didn't love Lydia?"

  "Of course I loved her…"

  "Then who cares?" Weldon said, close enough to smell his warm cologne. If I was a sniffer, I could stab his back. "Hormonal love is fleetin' and unstable and painful. Full of accusations and suspicions and fights. Darklin' love is made from magic strong enough to endure centuries, and so coveted the taletellers weave it into every story."

  "I've tried showing Miriam what the darkshine is like, practically begged her to take it," Delano said. "She refuses and I won't force her as I was forced."

  Weldon laughed. "Ya sound angry Lydia seduced ya into it." A pause, then a gasp. "Ya are! What the shit, Del? Who are you? What am I hearin'? Ya love bein' a darklin'!"

  "I resent force. Of any kind. I should've taken the darkshine on my terms, not forced into a partnership."

  "You were a goddamn mess!" Weldon's bent elbow flashed past the corner then disappeared. I held my breath, blood whooshing inside my ears. "Lydia saved ya, and ya know it. Besides, I never heard ya complainin'. Y'all were obsessed with each other, pawin' constantly like a couple of bunnies." I bristled to the visual. "That woman adored ya."

  Delano scoffed. "She hardly knew me."

  "'Course she did! Maybe not in the sense of your favorite color or spiritual beliefs or deepest longin's, but that crap don't matter. Lydia loved ya unconditionally. Unconditional love is so rare, and the prize changelin's earn and deserve for their human life of shunnin' and hatred. If you're waitin' for Miriam to fall in love with ya as a person, forget it."

  "I don't know." Delano's low voice wavered. "I mean, she always wants to be with me. She's curious about who I am and how I feel, and the nights fly because we constantly talk and laugh. Lydia and I never experienced that connection." I heard a smile creep into his voice, and my heart swelled. "It's nice."

  "It's terrible," Weldon said, and my heart deflated. "You're kiddin' yourself and settin' yourself up for heartbreak. Humans abused her for twenty-eight years, nearly twice as long as any darklin' here. She'll never fully love or trust ya without the darkshine."

  Delano mumbled something too low to hear. I only caught the word dirty.

  "Whoah now. That ain't what I'm sayin'," Weldon said. "I'm sayin' Miriam's too broken and ya can't fix her."

  "I don't need to fix anything," Delano said. "She's not broken. She's hurt and healing."

  "Hurt? I'll say!" Weldon said. "Anyone can see that with how she constantly hugs herself, mumbles with her speakin', stares down to hide a face beautiful enough to rival yours. She ain't hurt; she's sufferin'. You are too. Except you have the power to end it." Silence crept into the conversation. Feet shuffled. "Dammit, Del! Stop bein' so sensitive. Denyin' her is evil and cruel."

  "Do not lecture me on evil and cruelty!"

  "Ya forget, our Realm masters knew when to stop to keep us alive," Weldon said. "You have no idea what you're messin' with, friend, and your so-called goodness is gonna get that girl killed."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I slipped into my high heels outside the door, then snuck into the banquet hall, my heart pounding, adrenaline dulling the pain in my leg. Confusion, flattery, and fear whirled inside my chest as feuding gargoyles, battling for supremacy. Flattery delivered an uppercut, proved a man I admired also admired me. Fear lunged, reminding me what happened the last time a man said he was in love with me, and the years of hell which followed. Confusion clawed, exposing how I couldn't decipher, let alone handle, this emotional complexity. My dress felt too tight, the air too stifling. I watched the darklings, dressed to the nines, partnered through magic and unbreakable love, and realized I was a bigger abnormality than I ever expected.

  The only thing not worrying me was using both magics. Delano was correct. Something would've already happened if it was dangerous. Those concerns were like the pamphlet, fabrications used to scare and control.

  Thida beckoned me to empty seats at the rear table. I sat beside her, my plate of quesadillas and cheesecake waiting beside our flutes of champagne. I tugged at my dress and glanced at the doors.

  Thida's brow wrinkled. "You alright, hun?"

  I forced a smile. "My injuries are hurting, is
all."

  She handed me Motrin from her purse. I downed two pills with champagne (not my wisest decision, but I was beyond caring) as James sat at the table in front of the projector screen, facing the crowd. He wiggled his laptop's mouse. "If everyone takes their seats, we'll begin," he said.

  The darklings drifted from their refreshments and conversations and filled the empty chairs. Papers shuffled as folders opened. Pens clicked. A map of the USA appeared on the projector screen, red lines delineating the darkling territories. The image morphed. Black filled various territories, then the red lines expanded to absorb the voids. Throats cleared. Somberness settled over the crowd.

  A heavy middle-aged man in a goose-down jacket and a watchman's cap connected a phone system to James's laptop, mist ribboning from his lips. Everyone clenched their ears as racket boomed from a standing speaker—jumbled voices, clamoring, what sounded like clanging pots and pans, television babel.

  "Everyone on phone conference press nine to mute your microphones," the wytch shouted. "Press nine!" The din lessened, and soon the speaker silenced. The crowd sighed, relieved, then chuckled with amusement.

  Weldon slipped through the door. Delano skulked behind him as if returning from the principal's office. His shirt was on, his eyes on the floor. Fear Gargoyle squatted on my chest and I forced myself to face the projector screen. Be cool. Don't show him you know. How would I explain my eavesdropping? Even worse, what if Delano asked how I felt about their discussion? What if he asked how I felt about him?