Dark Ember

by R. D. Vallier

  James kissed my throat with the sensual eagerness of foreplay ending. My hand involuntarily shot up, grabbed his head to draw him closer, caressed the evening's flesh. I moaned and writhed against him, feeling a sweet bleeding sensation between us, like two streams of maple sap joining on a single trunk.

  He slipped his fingers into my underwear. "You will love this, Miriam."

  I moaned as the air rippled, then collapsed onto my face, gasping, as a bejeweled flip-flop rammed James's forehead, breaking his hold and the spell.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  "Found her, Del. Follow my signal," Thida said into her bluetooth. She launched an energy pulse off the balcony, and slammed her foot into James's side when he lunged.

  I scrambled into the penthouse, my gasps guttural, every nerve ignited. James snatched my ankle as I crossed the threshold. I flailed and shrieked.

  "You're a damn skeezick, ya know that, James?" Thida snapped, and blasted him off me with a wave of black magic.

  The wytch-mountain rushed through the door, handgun drawn. His eyes widened on Thida. She seized him in a burst of shadow, then bounced around the penthouse like a silent pinball machine, magic popping each hit. The balcony, the bar, the bedroom, the couch, the pool table, the spa, the balcony, the bar—Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!—until the mountain crumbled from her arms, unconscious, onto the marble entryway.

  "Mind your own business!" James rushed. Thida morphed into a shadowman; he stumbled through her as if falling through brume. I scrambled inside on my hands and knees, still feeling James's touch, the night beckoning and promising to make my pain and terror stop.

  Delano sprinted out of a burst of shadow and skidded to a stop. His head swiveled, his eyes wide. He spotted James and Thida beside the pool table, then me crouched beside the couch with my fly open. Rage twisted his face; ice crystals climbed his arms. He flew over the couch, snatched the cue-ball, and swung it at James's head. James spun, his shoulder absorbing the hit, and fell to his knee. Delano slammed the cue-ball at his skull, going for a break. James vanished. The cue-ball struck marble. Clack! James emerged behind Delano, rammed him to the ground. Delano thrashed beneath a magical surge, cursing and gasping. Shadows burst. Thida's arm hooked James's throat. He gagged and flailed. The two merged in and out of darkness as Delano scrambled free, cue-ball cocked.

  James evaporated; Thida tripped through his shadows. He reemerged near the balcony, and Delano chucked the cue-ball at the overhead glass, snarling. The window exploded. Glass fell in giant shards. I saw James's mouth drop before I squeezed my eyes behind fists. I think I screamed. I'm not sure. Glass chimed and sprayed across marble. I peeked up, expecting blood soaked floors, gore, a darkling impaled.

  Shadows dissipated across the slivered glass, glittering like a diamond trove. Near the pool table, flesh smacked flesh. Thida's magic blasted between James and Delano. James launched into the bar, a centuries worth of brandy and whisky crashing to the floor; Delano struck the couch and flipped onto the floor beside me.

  "I got him. You get her," Thida snapped at Delano. "You're a hairsbreadth from losing her!"

  Delano paused for a heartbeat, then scooped me into his arms and dashed out the balcony doors, glass cracking beneath his shoes.

  "Do not use any magic, understand?" he said, clutching my nodding head against his chest. He sprinted up invisible stairs into the night, black puffs splashing on each step. "Weldon, can you hear me?"

  "Barely," Weldon said through the speakerphone in Delano's front jeans-pocket. My eyes leaked relieved tears as a naked couple pointed at us from their rooftop Jacuzzi.

  "Meet us at—"

  James materialized and slammed his fist into Delano's ear. Delano rolled through the air, clenching me, darkness whirling around us. Shadows burst. I shrieked. James yanked me from Delano's arms by my armpits. Delano snatched my pant-leg. James kicked his chin, yanked me free. For a spilt-second my back squirmed against James's chest, then his arms opened and I dropped to the street below.

  My screams merged with whooshing air as I tumbled down, down, down. Images flashed: Delano and James brawling against a starless sky. The bustling Vegas strip. The fighting darklings. The pedestrians. Thida in a murky cloud. The pedestrians with distinguishable clothing.

  My mind split. One side screeched to use magic, to fly and save myself; the other side wailed death was better than another horrible marriage. My heart raced. I grasped for air through darkness, but Vegas's energies were too jumbled and I didn't know what I'd pull. The street advanced fast. Hotel windows flashed around me like hurried passenger cars. The darklings disappeared in the starless sky. The pedestrians had features, approaching as fast as a guillotine's blade.

  Wind sucked tears off my cheeks. I hugged myself to hide a nudity not there. "Forgive me, Del," I whimpered, and began pulling magic.

  Delano snatched me in a burst of darkness and we rolled to a stop inches above the sidewalk, magic corkscrewing. Humans gasped as Delano collapsed to his knees, panting, hugging me so tight my ribs creaked. Tourists gathered, whispering, pointing. Boot heels clomped at a clip through the ruckus.

  "That's a sample of our new illusion show," Weldon shouted as he hobbled and bulled his way through the gathering crowd. "Get to Bellagio's ticket booth in fifteen minutes, and free tickets are yours! A $200 value!"

  The humans squealed and rushed off to claim their prizes. Weldon shooed away the remaining rubberneckers, then knelt beside us and pulled my head away from Delano. They stared into my eyes and their faces fell. "Oh, Jesus," Weldon whispered.

  "I-I'm okay—" I stammered. Shadows cascaded out of me, uncontrollable, rippling across the sidewalk. Copper and lavender mixed inside my mouth, filling my sinuses, my throat. "Uugh. Maybe not. I'm—" My chest heaved and I retched blood onto Delano's chest.

  Delano's wide eyes flicked between me and his blood splattered Pixies shirt. He started hyperventilating. "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

  "Do not panic." Weldon punched Delano's shoulder hard enough he wobbled. "Ya ain't gonna lose her, hear me?" Delano nodded, his hand scrubbing his face.

  Thida rushed to our side. One of her flip-flops was missing, her hair in disarray. Blood checkered her split lip. "I think I committed several felonies under the new darklin' rules," she said, panting hard. "But I bought about ten minutes, so y'all better hurry on outta here."

  Delano groaned. "It'll take longer to fetch the car. Longer if the sniffer is waiting."

  "Highway's probably slammed, too," Weldon said.

  A rumbling potato-potato-potato approached as three Harley Davidsons slowed for the red light. Delano and Weldon glanced at each other. Weldon smirked; Delano sighed. "Why do I lose a vehicle every time I leave my territory?"

  "We'll return the Beemer when we meet to kick the Realm's ass," Weldon said, steadying me as I clambered to my feet. I wiped my mouth on my shoulder while Delano slipped his valet ticket into Thida's hand. Weldon grinned. "Now go show 'em what a real hell's angel looks like."

  Delano vanished and emerged in the lead biker's face, magic whirling around him like a swarm of bats. "BlaAraAraggRrRrAaAagH!" he roared, his fingers clawing the air, his shirt splotched with blood. The three bikers flew off their Harleys, shrieking. Two motorcycles crashed to the street as the riders sprinted down the Vegas strip. Delano caught the third—an orange Fat Boy—and leapt onto the seat. Weldon and Thida hurried me across the street, cracking up.

  "Kern is the closest double-darklin' territory," Thida said, sniggering. I slid onto the bike, hugged Delano's waist. "She'll be safe there from crossin' until she gets more day magic."

  "If ya haul ass, ya might reach your territory." And push her in there, added the steel in Weldon's glare.

  The light turned green and the Fat Boy roared, rear tire squalling.

  "Good luck, buddy!" Weldon shouted. Then, with the reek of exhaust and the wind in our hair, he and Thida vanished behind us in the flashing colors and sounds of Las Vegas.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

 
; Cold fingers caressed my neck. My eyes snapped open. My torso shot up, expecting James to—

  "Hey! Hey!"

  Delano.

  I collapsed against his chest, gasping, smelling the motorcycle's exhaust on his skin. His strong arms squeezed me until my nerves steadied and my head cleared.

  Mildew thickened the air. Something scurried in the popcorn ceiling. Unable to get a motel, we broke into the condemned house last night in a double-darkling town, oddly enough, called Delano, a halfway point between home and Las Vegas. According to dates graffitied on the water-stained walls, and the yellow newspapers thrown across green Formica counters, the house had been abandoned for at least a decade.

  A dark sky peeked through the missing boards over the bedroom's window. The neighbor's yellow porch light streaked through the dust, making the glass seem dusted with pollen.

  "I slept through the energy shift?" I said, rubbing my eyes. "Holy crap."

  "It's almost 10:00." My jaw dropped. Delano shrugged, brushed the hair from my face. "You've had an exhausting few days."

  The scratch marks I raked across his neck last night looked angry. When we had settled into the house he'd been worried, oh so tender. Gentle fingers had caressed my jawline, his concerns and affections murmured in my ear as magic poured out of me, sniffing and rubbing his. Then I'd snatched his wrist when he tried to clean the cut on my arm, forced my mouth to his when he cried the customary protests. You're injured! You're traumatized! You're drunk on—

  another man's

  —magic!

  But Delano's chivalry weakened when my hand slid into his pants, and crumbled like a sand clump in my grip. I discovered music and books weren't his only escapisms. His suppressed terror had clenched his fists in my hair, his suppressed rage bit my lip and ripped my clothing free. We showed no playfulness. No sweetness. Strong arms and eager hips had pinned me against the wall. Later, I wiped the creaky floorboards with his back. I needed to prove I wanted him, not the dirt bag magic had made me burn for. My desperation to replace James's flesh beneath my fingernails with Delano's made our lovemaking erotic and feral. Delano's unleashed possessiveness made it desperate and carnal, as if our strokes could correct a mistaken course in a turbulent sea, as if we could mark ourselves as each other's territory with scratches and teeth marks, semen and sweat. After aggression and pleasure had exhausted us, we clenched each other, panting and kissing in a suburban ruin reeking of sex and mildew, until we fell asleep against each other's bare chest, and the darkshine stole him for another day.

  Blood had trickled down my thighs when I woke. I spent the morning convincing myself it was from vigorous sex or a stress-induced menstrual cycle. Something normal. Something unconcerning. Nothing worth mentioning. Daytime had been excruciating, the light magics heavy and crushing, the usage distant and logy. Hours later, the trickling stopped, I no longer saw Delano slumbering on the floorboards, and the weedy backyard bloomed a rainbow. I passed out around 3:00 PM and slept like a corpse.

  Now, a Walmart shopping cart stood in the bedroom's corner, loaded with merchandise. Shadows dipped where the rotten drywall had caved against my back.

  "You left?" I rubbed crust from my eyes. "Wow. I was out of it."

  "I brought food, clothing, supplies." Delano's gray tank-top displayed where I had bit his biceps. A long bruise traced his jaw from James's assault. "I didn't know what you wanted so I got a bit of everything."

  Weldon and Thida's cash-gift was locked in the BMW's glovebox in Vegas. This morning, Delano had fewer than $100 in his pocket, and that shopping cart contained at least $500 in merchandise. I wondered what Walmart's security cameras recorded. I wondered if the footage would ever appear on a paranormal reality show.

  Darkling tax. I tried to not think about it as I rummaged through the cart. My legs ached. My ribs throbbed. I grabbed a towel, skinny jeans, brown boots, a lace bra, a maroon tank top with a beaded neckline, a faux leather jacket. Underwear was piled in the cart's corner. I dug and dug and dug. My brow furrowed. "They're all thongs."

  "They are?" Delano grinned and bit his pinky. "Oops."

  I shook my head, then limped into the bathroom, carrying my selections and toiletries. I washed with a gallon jug of water and a washcloth in the rusted bathtub, dried my hair with a flick of magic, and dressed. When I returned, Delano had smoothed a green fleece blanket over the floorboards. White candles flickered around the room, firelight and shadow tangoing along the walls.

  "Ready for some Italian?" He tossed me a can of raviolis.

  "Sounds great."

  "I forgot plates," he said, and popped his dinner open. We sat cross-legged on the blanket. A ravioli squelched as Delano's fork plucked it from the can. He chewed, wincing. "Wow. This is terrible." He cracked open a bottle of water to wash it down.

  I sniggered. "I'll take any break from the lavender."

  Delano's eyebrow lifted. "Lavender?"

  "Yeah, that taste when you use lots of night magic."

  "Huh. It tastes malty to me."

  "That, too," I said. "But I mean when you use a lot. I assumed lavender is the darkshine's taste."

  Delano shook his head. "Not that I've experienced. Maybe you're tasting the transition? It's been almost forty years and I was between magics for only a moment. I probably forgot."

  Delano grimaced at the meal. His face darkened and the conversation became lost to his thoughts. I crammed my hand into my too-tight jeans to adjust the stupid thong, sensing his irritation. "Sooo, I didn't know Weldon has a prosthetic."

  "Mmhm," Delano mumbled through chewing.

  "Was it from the fire?"

  Delano shook his head and swallowed a gulp of water. "No. A mine collapse. But a fire never burned him. His scarring is from Realm experimentation."

  I lowered my fork. "Experimentation for what?"

  Delano shrugged and poked in his can. "They never said. My guess is they wanted to discover how to harness darkling power without the darkshine. Never succeeded, though. All his torture and scarring for nothing. Except their enjoyment."

  "But you two weren't even darklings then!"

  "Didn't matter. They speculated the bloodlines are manipulated."

  My brow furrowed. Other than Delano's flogging scars, his body's only noticeable marks were the tiny triangular scar on his cheek, and where my ex-husband had knifed his forearm. Even the bullet graze had vanished. I remembered James yammering as if surnames meant something. "Is Weldon's bloodline special? Is that why they experimented just on him?"

  Delano stiffened. "No, um … no. They, uh." He cleared his throat. "They fetched higher bids if my body remained unmarked."

  "Oh." Blood fell from my face. "Oh! I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

  "No, it's okay."

  "Still, I shouldn't pry. I'm sorry."

  He set aside his can, clasped my hand in his. "Seriously. It's okay. It's…" He sighed. "Weldon got one end of the spectrum; I got the other. They said darklings are promiscuous, which meant I wanted it. They insisted they granted me a favor." His face darkened and he mumbled the rest to himself: "What they did is evil and cruel."

  I squeezed his hand before he pulled away. "Yes. It is."

  We ate in contemplative silence. Flames danced on stolen wicks. I regarded our simple meal, the two of us sitting on a blanket in the grime, no home waiting. We were dirty and broke, our future unsteady. I thought of James in his penthouse, the marble floors and aged scotch, the promises of stability and cleanliness, wealth and comforts. I remembered what he said regarding the darkshine, how you fell in love with the night and not the person. That the person was meaningless.

  I watched Delano, unshaven, hunched over his canned raviolis, and feared taking the darkshine more than ever. The thought of possibly losing Delano the man, becoming blind to the invisible scars and the vulnerabilities and the quirks, broke my heart. I didn't need luxuries. I didn't need stability. I didn't care if I woke up on silk sheets or on rotting floorboards. I didn't care if home
meant a million-dollar penthouse or a vague idea yet to be discovered. I only wanted to wake up beside him. Everywhere felt meaningless unless he was there.

  But does that mean I'm in love with him? He made me happy, true, but so did the mountains and cheesecake. He always occupied my mind, but so did my mother and Sam, and I sure as hell didn't love them. My thumbnail picked the can's label. Is this love or infatuation? Instinct or impulse? Was I a lonely woman, seeking connections not there? Was Delano a lonely man, terrified he was unworthy of acceptance?

  My blood simmered to that last thought, making me want to reach into the otherworld and slap the crap out of Lydia. She'd been privileged to get Delano as a partner, yet dismissed him. His body had been a representation of something, not someone. How is she better than James? I wondered. How are darklings better than the Realm with its controlling, beautiful lies? I set aside my meal, nauseated.

  I had spent my entire life craving love, practically begged for it from Sam and my mother. What if I'd been offered a magic potion to force them to love me? Would I have accepted?

  Yes. At my most lonely and desperate, but not now. Those fanciful princes and princesses who once made my heart flutter now seemed sinister and disgusting and wrong. The darklings' happily-ever-afters reminded me of budgies falling in love with their reflections. Their feelings for the bird inside the toy mirror were real, yet it was still an illusion. Their reflections didn't trust or admire them, or want them to be their best. It was a one-way relationship. Ugh. No thank you. I craved a real relationship, where we—our complete, true selves—were worth loving, despite the accompanying pain, work, and commitment. I believed a person's existence should matter.