Darkness Savage (The Dark Cycle Book 3)

by Rachel A. Marks

  My body jolts, my power stirring to life as the demon moves its way around a supply cart. I grit my teeth, trying to hold the force inside as my energy sears my bones. People might see it. I can’t let that happen.

  Connor follows my line of sight. “What is it?” He searches the room, but I know he’s not seeing the demon because the spider moves right through a wall. It’s not corporeal, which is something, I guess. It won’t see me—I have my amulet on.

  But then the demon spider emerges through the wall only a few feet away from me, scuttling closer in a sort of zigzag.

  I jerk back, the gurney lurches, knocking over a nurse who’s walking past.

  The spider leaps onto the bed, hissing my name in a demon tongue, “Fire Bringer.” How does it know where I am?

  I scramble away, falling to my knees beside the nurse. The demon lunges, jumping at us, landing on top of the woman. The scent of its darkness crashes into me, filling my head, the chill of it stinging my skin.

  And I can’t hold my power back anymore. It hits me like a battering ram to the chest, bursting out in a pulse, stronger than I’ve ever felt it, the fire tearing from me in a rush of heated air.

  Screams erupt around us, the sound of movement, of crashing objects. “He’s on fire!” someone shouts. But my eyes are locked on the demon, on the nurse. On my fire reflecting in her fully dilated pupils, golden and molten.

  Connor’s begging me to get up, to run. I can barely register his fear. My power’s in charge now. And all I’m aware of is the demon on the nurse’s head, clacking its pinchers. Thousands of tiny eyes covering its face seem to be looking right at me, but it’s like it can’t quite find me.

  My power. It must be sensing my power.

  The nurse obviously can’t feel the demon on top her. Can’t see its crunchy black exoskeleton reflecting the harsh hospital lighting, the thick bristles of hair tickling her ear. She just gapes at me, frozen in fear.

  Calls of “Fire!” and “Get security!” are chaos around us now. Someone attacks me with a blanket, trying to smother my flames, but I push them off.

  The demon hisses in my direction, using the distraction, and slides its hairy leg into the nurse’s eye socket.

  “No!” I cry, trying to grab the thing as the bulbous body flexes and bends like a water balloon, shoving its head in after the leg, half the demon sinking into flesh in less than a second.

  Words start to flow mindlessly from my mouth. I pull my knife, reaching out for her.

  The woman jerks away from my hand, from my blade, at the same time someone else grabs me—Connor this time. I shake him off, my power too big as it fills me with its rage.

  As I see the demon disappear.

  Inside of the woman.

  Filling her flesh with its dark, smoky power.

  Everyone in the room seems to go still, as if sensing something happening. Something horrible.

  The nurse finally reacts. She gags, her face flushing. She coughs and chokes, like she’s trying to swallow dust. The room’s attention falls on her now.

  “Time to run, man,” Connor says, his voice shaking with urgency.

  But I can’t move, I can’t take my eyes off the infested woman. “Gotta get it out,” I whisper. “Have to get it out.” It’s my fault she’s been invaded. My presence made the thing need to find eyes to spot me with.

  I grab her with a fire-filled hand.

  She gasps, her eyes widening in terror. Black smoke leaks from between her open lips.

  “Don’t touch her with that!” Connor says.

  But I take the woman by both shoulders. And whisper in Aramaic that I’ll kill it, I’ll kill this bastard of a demon. I’ll rip its legs off and shove my blade through its skull.

  The nurse’s body twitches in my hands. She bares her teeth, her eyes filling with black fluid, her features contorting.

  “I sssee you, Fire Bringer,” the demon says with her mouth. “She said to find the Fire Bringer. The witch wanted everyone, human, demon, angel, to sssee what you have become.”

  Ava. It’s talking about Ava. Out, damned spot!

  “Aidan, please,” Connor says, grabbing the nurse’s arm now, trying to tear her from my grip.

  But it’s too late. I hold tight, my power surging through my bones, my muscles, my blood, escaping through my skin in a flash of white light. It jolts the air around us with a loud crackle when it touches down, finding its mark.

  Connor flies back with a cry of pain as the hot pulse of my flames climbs the woman’s arm, sizzles over her chest, and devours her neck.

  It slides into her open mouth, a scream of agony rips from her throat.

  “Release her,” I seethe in Aramaic, all focus and rage. “Now.”

  “The witch is coming for you,” the demon screeches through the woman’s lips. “She will have you by her side in the end. Watch as the daylight hits you. The humans will see your power and fear you, Fire Bringer. And Heaven will know you belong to her. Out, damned spot.” It laughs horribly.

  The vivid image rises before me: Ava’s small form, her eyes silver white, her arms outstretched to Darkness. And me smiling down on her in pride as the world looks on in dread.

  Fury fills me at the thought, and my power focuses into a pinprick. The fire reaches deeper, pushing through the woman like an extension of my own fingers, the tongues of flame finding the monster that’s knitting its dark roots into the terrified spirit of the nurse.

  My fire grips tight to the demon. Twists. And yanks.

  The beast rips away from the core of the human vessel without a sound. The nurse’s spirit flickers, and her body falls into a heap on the floor.

  I’m left clutching the shadow of the huge spider. It flails and screeches as my flames coat it completely. I don’t need a dagger or a conduit. I only need my will and the storm that crashes through me. It finishes off the writhing demon. Leaving nothing but ash.

  The flakes float in the air like silver snow. Nothing is left but dried demon blood coating my fist, my arm.

  I breathe. And my pulse begins to slow. My power ebbs, sinking away like a fading tide.

  And the world clears, my surroundings slowly coming into focus.

  The nurse is a limp form at my feet, Connor is tumbled over beside her, silent. And six uniformed men stand at various points around me, one of them aiming a gun at my head.

  Terror seeps from every single body in the room, filling the air with the smell of burnt hair. There’s yelling somewhere in the distance; someone is ordering people to clear out, to evacuate. Chaos and panic dance around me, as if everyone’s worried that I’m a bomb ready to go off.

  Suddenly, I feel a familiar energy in the distance. I turn toward it and spot Kara through the glass doors of the ER, Sid beside her, both looking on in horror. Kara’s fighting the grip of a paramedic as she tries to get to me. She’s yelling something—my name, I think—but sirens scream in the distance, making it impossible to hear. My ears buzz. My head begins to throb as the new sounds of reality fill my head. And I realize Ava’s gotten her wish. Everyone sees. Everyone’s afraid.

  “Don’t move!” yells one of the security guards. The one with the gun. “Drop the knife!” That must be a cop; his uniform is different.

  I turn back to look down at the nurse’s body. I was trying to save her—wasn’t I? Did I kill her? I wanted to destroy the demon, that’s all I wanted. I didn’t think. I was . . . possessed by the need to act, by the fury inside me, this power, this need to kill.

  I stare at Connor’s limp form, terror rising now to nudge out the confusion. What have I done? God, help me. I squeeze my eyes shut. I clench my hands into fists and push down a scream, wishing it all away, wishing my life back into focus, wishing I was miles from this unbelievable mess.

  A searing pain shoots through my core. And then my skin is burning, my body stretching out in unending agony as if I’m being torn in half.

  There’s a burst of light and a sizzle in the air.

 
Then I’m tumbling, head over heels, through soft ground. Over sand. It flies around me, and water splashes, shocking me with the sudden chill, the salty taste on my tongue.

  I blink. Gasp. Staring at the sky as my hands dig into the gooey ground underneath me—

  Holy shit, I just teleported. To the beach.

  FIVE

  Rebecca

  I’ve stared at the box of art supplies on the top shelf of my closet for twenty minutes. I’m sitting on my bed, looking at it from across my room. It’s nestled between a pair of roller skates and a stack of old Vogue magazines Samantha gave me for a collage project I was working on for my art media class last year.

  A week ago I drew more than I spoke. It was like breathing for me, the deepest connection to my true self. But now, thinking of putting pencil to page makes me feel like I’m suffocating. I need to try, though. Especially after what happened on the beach today with Apple. If I don’t try, I’m never going to know the answers to the questions circling like vultures in my head: After saving Kara, who have I become? Am I still Rebecca?

  I slide off the edge of my bed and grab my desk chair, set it in the closet, and stand on it to pull the box off the shelf. I take the box to my desk and pop off the plastic lid. The contents are tucked neatly inside; Margaritte, our housekeeper, insisted on being careful when she packed the supplies away for me. I was going to throw everything away, but she caught me halfway through the process and scolded me about letting the “sorrows of life” ruin my dream. She also reminded me how much Charlie loved my drawings.

  He did. He teased me incessantly, but never about my art—that he was always encouraging about.

  I pull out a sketchbook and my container of pencils, then I settle on the floor. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard I’m worried it’s trying to climb up my throat.

  I flip to a blank page, put lead to vellum, and close my eyes. I imagine a tree—that’s simple enough to draw. Like the tree outside of the LA Paranormal house, a large oak with twisted limbs.

  Once I see it clearly in my mind, I begin. One line and then another, slowly brushing the lead over the paper in light strokes. My muscles recall the movement as the technical side of my brain kicks in. A lighter line here, a thicker one there, and I soon see the image emerging on the paper, like always, nothing childish or unschooled about it. The style feels forced, but the finished product is technically perfect.

  Okay, so, crisis averted. Apparently I can still draw.

  Then why am I looking at this sketch and wanting to rip it to shreds?

  Something is missing, something vital.

  I hear the front door close downstairs, and my father’s voice echoes up to me. “Emery, I’m home. Are you ready to go?”

  I look away from the drawing as he knocks on my bedroom door.

  “Come in,” I say.

  He opens the door, staying in the doorway. “You’re not ready.”

  “Ready for what, exactly?” I ask, feeling dazed and tired. The last thing I want to do is go to one of his business dinners—to which he now insists I always tag along. He’s only been home from New York three days, what could be so important?

  A disapproving frown wrinkles his forehead. “It’s the art show finals for the Arts & Media Museum. You made me put it on my calendar months ago. I thought you submitted that angel painting for the internship.”

  I totally forgot about the contest in all the madness. That was my life before Aidan. The life where I was just trying to recover from losing my brother. Where there were no demons or curses on people’s souls.

  “I’m not feeling so good,” I say. “Maybe we shouldn’t go. I mean, they’ll call if I win the internship, right?”

  My lack of enthusiasm for an event I would normally be thrilled about seems to strike him speechless for several seconds. Concern fills his eyes. “Are you taking your medication, Emery?”

  I look back down at my drawing. “Yeah, of course,” I say with forced cheeriness, doodling on the tree. It’s more like: No, of course not. “I think I’m getting that stomach bug that’s going around.”

  “Do you need me to ask Margaritte to get you something special from the grocery store?”

  I shake my head. It’s gotten too easy to lie to him. I’m a horrible daughter. “No, thanks. I think I just need rest.”

  “You’re drawing,” he says, stepping into the room, sounding surprised. “Margaritte was worried about you; she said you tried to throw your pencils and things away.”

  Wonderful. I’ve been snitched on. I try to make it into something silly. “It was a temperamental artist thing.”

  “Oh.” He stands over me, looking hesitant as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Then he asks, “Is this about a boy?”

  My brow goes up. Where did he get that idea? “No, why?”

  “Well, there was the young man in the Jeep who picked you up this morning. And he brought you home from the academy yesterday. I’m concerned, since I haven’t met him. I don’t even know how you know him.”

  Girls who go to Catholic school don’t meet boys the normal way, so I can see why he’d be concerned.

  “His name’s Connor. He’s just a boy from LA Paranormal, and we’re friends.”

  He nods a few times. “I think I need to meet him face-to-face before you start running around town with him.”

  I release a small laugh. “We’re not ‘running around town,’ Dad. He took me surfing.”

  He straightens his shoulders at the last bit of information. “I want to meet him, Emery. You aren’t going anywhere else with him until I do.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to use a calming voice. “That’s fine. I’ll have him come inside next time he picks me up. If you’re home, you can meet him.” But I really don’t want Connor to meet my dad. Maybe because Connor is older. Or because my dad will be able to tell that he isn’t from the right side of town. Being from the wrong circles might be fine for Aidan, who saved my life in my father’s mind, but when it comes to dating, it’s a whole other story.

  “When can we make this happen?” he asks. “I’ll be sure I’m here.”

  “Um, tonight, I guess? He’s picking me up at nine. We’re going to the movies.” We’re actually supposed to check out the Hollywood sign, because Connor said LA Paranormal was considering it for another shoot, and I mentioned I wanted to go.

  And now it’s going to be a date, apparently. Hopefully Connor won’t mind the third degree from my dad. I groan inwardly, thinking about the moment my dad asks him what university he goes to.

  “All right,” he says. And then he steps closer and plants a kiss on the top of my head, whispering, “I love you. I just worry about you, sweetie.”

  “I know.” I smile up at him with as much genuine affection as I can muster. I wish that I could tell him the truth about everything. I wish I could find a way so that we could be closer. We’ve never had a great relationship, but ever since my almost-suicide, he’s been there for me. He’s trying so hard.

  I wish it was enough to be sure that he would believe me. Because there’s this part of me that wants him to understand—understand the real me, not the weak girl who tried to kill herself, or the irresponsible girl who likes to shop.

  Of course, I’m not even sure the real me is in the building anymore.

  But it’s time to stop hoping things will get better, hoping someone will fix this ache. It’s time to get help where I know that I can, to figure this all out. On my own. I’m just not sure where to start. I’ve only met one person who knows everything about this soul stuff, who might get what’s happening to me.

  I pull out my phone and text Holly.

  What’s Miss Mae’s address? Please don’t tell Aidan or Connor that I asked.

  After a few minutes an answer comes through with the address on it, and:

  Mum’s the word. But YOLO. And that’s, You Otta Look Out, girl.

  SIX

  Aidan

  I walk up the beach toward th
e cave and ignore my rumbling stomach as much as I can. After that accidental leap through space, I’ve never been so hungry in my entire life.

  I should probably be freaked by the idea of what I just did, but I’m not. I’m over being shocked by my abilities. And right now all I can think about is finding Ava, to get her to stop this madness. She had her minion kill a woman in a Gap and possess that poor nurse, manipulating me in front of a bunch of people in a damn hospital for some insane game. Not to mention the possibly—no, the certainty—of all those cameras. She’s officially sucked me in.

  And I fucking fell for it.

  I’m still not sure what she meant by her Macbeth quote about the spot—a stain? But the part of her hint that said I’m one step closer to the daylight feels pretty clear. That whole ER just got a huge eyeful of my power.

  What have I done? Is that nurse going to recover? And what about Connor? He was out cold when I blinked away. As I come to the cave opening, I pull out my phone to call Sid and start to press the screen button with my thumb.

  Seawater dribbles out the bottom of the case and the screen stays black.

  Shit.

  I walk into the cave and go to the wall where the doorway is, placing a hand on the cold stone. “Ava!” I yell. The sound of my anger echoes back at me. Where the hell is she? “Why are you hiding from me? Why are you doing this?” I turn and look at the altar where she was in a dead sleep only a week ago. Only a week ago she was innocent in my mind. She needed me. She was mine to protect.

  And now . . .

  What a fool I’ve been.

  Bitterness fills my mouth as I think of how much I wanted to save her, how much I was wrong about. I move closer to the altar and run my fingers along the stone surface of the slab.

  The air shimmers, like heat just billowed from in front of me over the rock.

  I blink, wondering if the salt in my eyes is making me see things.

  It shimmers again. And then something appears on the stone.

  A small square of white paper. I lean closer and study it, not sure I should touch it. I look around the room and feel for a presence. “Ava?”