Darkness Savage (The Dark Cycle Book 3)

by Rachel A. Marks

  “How many times did he throw up?”

  “Only one other time. It seems to have stopped now.”

  An ache fills my chest, thinking of them here all day, scared and unable to call a doctor. “What about Connor? Is he feeling all right? He’s not answering my texts.”

  “He just went straight into the living room when they got back from the job earlier.” Her voice wavers. “Been in there ever since, right next to Kara.” She releases a long sigh, bowing her head and rubbing her eyes again, this time wiping away tears.

  Raul reaches over and touches her knee.

  I move closer and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her even though I have no clue what to do next. “We’re going to figure this out.” I have to believe that. Or else I’ll crack.

  She nods, then looks over to Raul, patting his hand. “Thank—” But her words cut off. Her eyes widen, staring at something just past Raul’s head. She whispers under her breath, “WTF. It’s . . . how is that possible?”

  “What?” I follow her line of sight but don’t see anything. I let go of her shoulder and lean on the back of her chair, squinting at the area she’s gaping at.

  “There, it’s—wait . . . he’s gone. Where’d he go?”

  “Who?” Raul and I say in unison.

  “A ghost,” she says. “One of the ones that came to me last night, but I never see them when I’m awake, that’s . . . that’s nuts-o.”

  There’s no ghost here; I would’ve seen it. “A ghost can’t get through all the wards on the house.” Could Ava have done something to those, too?

  No, I’d sense it if they were broken. And everything feels nice and solid.

  “They come to me in my dreams, Aidan. That means I see them in my mind’s eye. Not here, in the house.”

  “Oh.”

  Raul adds, “Like a waking dream.”

  “Exactly.” She stands quickly, turning to me, the chair legs squeaking as they scrape over the linoleum. “Touch me.”

  I step back. “Excuse me?”

  “You put your hand on my shoulder, and the image appeared. Didn’t you feel anything?”

  I shake my head and look her over, realizing my power must’ve done something again. Like it does to Connor. But it wasn’t the same at all. It didn’t hurt her, for one. And I didn’t feel a thing.

  “I felt a tingle in my nose,” she says. “I sometimes get the same zing in my dreams, just before a spirit shows up to interrupt my make-out sesh with Zac Efron. Or on the off nights it’s Tyler Posey with that adorbs crooked jaw of his.” She grins and gets a twinkle in her eye, thinking about who she dream-dates. Then she shrugs and says, “So, let’s try again.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say. “I’m hurting Connor.”

  “Because it stings?” she asks. “That’s nothing.”

  “I knocked him out,” I say, wondering how she doesn’t get that’s something.

  “But he was fine on that job thing we went on,” Raul adds, not helping at all. “He ate two cheeseburgers and fries from In-N-Out on the way back.”

  Jax walks in, glancing around the room. “What’s with the faces?”

  “Aidan’s gonna touch me,” Holly says, stepping closer to me and holding out a hand.

  Jax’s brow goes up and he moves to stand by Raul. “This should be interesting. I hope Kara walks in.”

  Holly whines, “Come on, Aidan, I wanna try to make it happen again.”

  “Fine,” I say, taking her wrist and holding it out awkwardly. “See anything?”

  She looks around herself and grips my hand. Then she grunts in frustration. “Nada. Maybe I’m wrong.” She moves back to the table and picks up her glasses, sliding them back on her face. “Or,” she says dramatically, “we could experiment? We can use what just happened as a baseline for a possible control group, and then—”

  “Holly, let’s just have the meeting,” I say, mostly relieved nothing weird happened. I might be curious, but I’m not in the headspace for any of Holly’s experimental zeal, and I don’t need anything else to go wrong. “We can figure this out later.”

  “Spoiler.” And she walks out with Jax’s Wookie slippers scraping across the floor with each step.

  When everyone’s gathered in the living room around Sid, the air turns solemn. I sense Finger attempting to settle everyone’s spirits, but he’s got his work cut out for him, and it’s not doing much to lift the pall.

  I can’t let myself look too long at Sid. His sunken eyes, his hollow cheeks, and the sallow color of his skin . . . The blood that’s dried in the corners of his mouth. If I don’t focus on how he’s failing, on the presence of death, maybe it’ll leave us alone. Maybe we’ll have more time. It’s a childish notion—I’m like a kid hiding from a monster—but I can’t seem to help it.

  Kara said he’s even too weak to talk. He’s asleep again, laid out on the couch like a skeletal sleeping beauty, looking peaceful.

  Looking dead.

  Kara and Connor are on the floor, leaning against the couch below him. Jax and Holly are on the loveseat, and Raul is on the floor beside Holly. Finger is hiding in the shadow of the corner.

  I’m not completely in the room, leaning on the wall beside the archway, trying to center myself and clear my head. I have to stay focused. Or I won’t be able to do this leadership thing. Because how do I get us all working together to fix this? I fake it.

  “Okay,” I say, “I know things suck right now. Three months ago I showed up, and your whole world turned to shit . . .”

  Kara leans forward. “Aidan, stop that. We’re all a part of what’s happening.”

  “Yeah, man,” Connor says. He’s got half a sandwich left on a plate on his lap. Obviously the two cheeseburgers and fries weren’t enough. And he still looks exhausted. “We’d never have been brought together if it wasn’t for Sid finding us. And he’d never have made this family if it wasn’t for you.”

  This family. The words soak into me, making me pause, and I realize—that’s why. It’s why I’m so frantic, why everything feels too huge. It’s true. When I wasn’t looking, they became my family. And I can’t stand the thought of losing any of them.

  Finger smiles slightly as if he senses my realization.

  “I’d be in juvie,” Jax says.

  “Same,” Connor adds. “Prison, actually.”

  “I’d be dead,” Kara whispers, taking Sid’s hand in hers. “I’d have made sure of it.”

  Raul blinks up at me. “I can’t even think about where I’d be if it wasn’t for you giving a shit about me, compa. I had no clue how to be free of that hell. You pulled me out.”

  Holly’s nodding along as people talk, and after it’s quiet for a few seconds, she adds, “I’d still be in that mental hospital.” We all turn to her as she shares a look with Kara.

  “You didn’t belong there,” Kara says.

  Holly stares down at the carpet. “I wouldn’t know where I belonged if I wasn’t here. With you guys.” Raul leans over from his place on the floor at her feet and rests his head on her knee. Jax scoots across the cushion, closer to her, tentatively taking her hand in his.

  “We’ll fix this,” I say again to her; a sad Holly is too painful to watch.

  “How?” she asks, obviously defeated.

  “We stop Ava,” I say. “We find out what she wants and save her if we can. But before we can do that—or before I can do that—I think we should discuss this bonding spell. Sid talked about how you’re all supposed to be a part of this, and that’s why he gathered us together in this house, like Connor said. Eric seems to think that the reason I’m hurting Connor is because that link is becoming stronger, and we haven’t done the spell to complete it. So it’s like a live wire.”

  “And in the kitchen you made me see the ghost when you touched me all affectionately,” Holly adds, pointing at me.

  Everyone looks over at her, Kara and Connor with matching frowns.

  I explain, “Holly thinks she saw a g
host when I touched her shoulder.”

  “Uh, excuse me,” she says. “I saw it.”

  “I wonder what would happen if you touched me,” Jax says, his eyebrows high, “affectionately.” And then he and Raul both seem to think that’s funny and start laughing. Holly rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t let go of Jax’s hand.

  “Can we just focus?” I ask.

  “Eric said this spell was big,” Kara says, sounding tired. “What will it take to do it?”

  “I need to read over it more thoroughly as soon as I get back to the club. But we still need to find out who the eighth Light is.”

  “Wait,” Connor says, “who’s the seventh?”

  “Rebecca,” I say. “I’m pretty positive she’s still a Light. I read her soul today, and her energy is huge. Now that she’s not linked to me.”

  From the shock on his face, I realize that probably wasn’t something I should have surprised him with. I’ll have to fix that later.

  “And you think Tray might be the eighth?” Kara asks.

  “How do you feel about that?” I ask her, trying not to let any jealousy sneak into my tone. “Connor said you know him pretty well. Do you think he could be one?”

  She studies my face for a few seconds and then says, “I suppose. I always thought he should join us, but he never wanted to. He has gifts, but he hid them from Sid.” She seems nervous talking about it.

  “One of you needs to talk to him again,” I say. “As soon as possible.”

  Connor motions to me. “It should be you, Aidan. You’re the one he’s supposed to be ready to follow.”

  “The guy doesn’t know me, or have any reason to trust me.” Not to mention my newfound fame being a problem.

  Connor looks over and nods to Kara. “Take her with you.”

  She gives him a sharp look. After a second of glaring she says, “Fine.” She leans back against the couch again. “I’ll text him right now.” She pulls out her phone and starts tapping at the screen.

  “And if he’s a green light, then we do the spell,” Holly says. “Easy peasy.”

  Let’s hope so.

  “Okay,” I say. “Then we’ll do this as soon as we find out what part Tray plays—what part he’s willing to play.”

  “Sounds good,” Jax says. “My brother’s a stubborn ass, but he’s not likely to pass up saving the world from a psycho Carrie.”

  My chest twinges at the mention of Ava. Kara looks sideways at me, feeling my pain, my hopeless frustration. But I ignore my emotions. They’re not in a sane place right now.

  Holly says, “We should talk about the news and this BOLO. Because the infamous Aidan O’Fallan could make this all moot when he lands himself in Hotel Jail-o. The media is having a field day. I did some research, and that woman that died in the Gap was some kind of PTA mom who ran a charity thing. They’re already planning the Lifetime movie according to the TMZ website.”

  “Two days later?” Jax asks, sounding incredulous.

  Raul snaps his fingers dramatically. “Hollywood is a hound for blood.”

  “And then there’s the nurse,” Holly adds, more quietly.

  The room goes still.

  “I know how to stay invisible,” I say, pretending I didn’t hear the mention of my newest sin. I kick the edge of the rug and push against the horror crawling up from a dark place inside. It’s ready to consume me.

  I bear the mark.

  Murderer.

  Connor clears his throat and then says, “I’ll contact Sid’s guy for a new ID. But there’s got to be something else we can do.”

  “Changing your name won’t erase those videos popping up all over Twitter,” Holly says. “Luckily most of them don’t show your face, and the ones that do are pretty blurry.”

  “You can bet those men in blue got your prints,” Raul says.

  My nerves spark. My prints would be a huge arrow to the truth.

  Connor seems to be following the same horrible logic. “Which will lead them—and then the media—to your actual files.”

  The words and weight of it all sink into the air, and even Finger isn’t able to lift the finality of what it could all mean. If they find the real me, the authorities will realize I’ve got fake papers, then the system could find all these kids, one by one, and the whole glass tower of lies Sid’s built up to shield them shatters.

  “You could hightail it to Mexico,” Jax mumbles.

  I hold Ava’s hand, watching the policemen, the firemen, going in and out of our house. I pretend it’s jelly making our fingers sticky. Not blood. Not Mom’s blood.

  The woman who brought us water and blankets stands to the side, talking in a hushed whisper to a policeman. The adults seem to want to keep it a secret that my mom is dead, like they don’t know that I watched it, that I watched when—when the—

  My chest caves in thinking of it, seeing it happen over and over, again and again, in my mind. The fire circle. The wolf. The blood.

  She’s gone.

  There is no pretending about that.

  A yellow fire truck blocks the street, and the spinning lights splatter pulsing red all over everything, with the beat of my heart. My heart . . .

  My mom is still in the house.

  No. Her body. Her shell. Not her.

  Where did her spirit go? Will she turn into a white whisper like the ghosts I see? Will she rise like light to Heaven? I want her to be okay. I want a hug.

  I grip Ava’s hand tighter and try to comfort her with our connection. I try to push into her all the safety I can find inside me. She’s so little, and she doesn’t understand. Her mind is a tangle of confusion and fear.

  The woman with the blankets comes back and kneels in front of us. “So, we’re going to go now, okay?” Her voice is soft—she’s trying to hide her sadness for us, but I smell it. Like cooked peas.

  I want to ask her where she’s taking us, but my throat hurts too much. I can only blink at her and shiver.

  She rubs my arm as she begins drawing us away from the house. “Let’s get you cleaned up and warm. And I bet we can find some hot chocolate.” She stops by a dark-colored car and opens the door to the backseat, then starts fiddling with a car seat. When she turns around to pick up Ava, she pauses. Her eyes narrow, locking on the small cut on Ava’s tiny shoulder.

  Where the demon’s claw dug into her skin.

  I want to tug Ava back toward me, hide her in my arms. But I stand still, waiting to see what the lady will do. Does she see it like I do? Does she see the silver threads already growing from the angry welt?

  “Oh my, little one,” the woman says. “You got a bruise. Did you fall down?” And I smell it on her, the anger, I see it in her adult eyes, what she’s thinking. She believes our mom hurt us.

  I pull Ava away, wrapping my arms around her, and somehow manage to keep my gaze steady, looking the woman right in the eye, trying to warn her, trying to say what my mouth can’t: leave us alone. If I could run away, I would. I’d take Ava and live in a deep dark cave, like an adventurer or that Patrick guy our neighbor Mrs. Jenner told us about on green clover day—a cave like the one on the beach that Mom’s always drawing.

  Was drawing.

  I wish I’d put something in my pocket before the police came, a drawing, one of her rings. I wish I’d done more than sit beside her with Ava—I wish I’d put roses in her hair. She liked roses. I’m never coming back. I’ll never see her again. Never.

  Never.

  “It’s all right, Aidan,” the woman says, taking Ava’s hand and trying to pull her away from me, a worried look on her face. The lady says my name like she knows me. Like it’s more than letters on one of the files tucked under her arm. Like she’s not going to take my sister from me.

  I keep my eyes on hers and shake my head slowly. No, it’s not all right. It’s never going to be all right again.

  And I feel that truth, that forever change in my chest, as Ava’s tiny form slips from my arms into the hands of the stranger.

&
nbsp; TWENTY-ONE

  Rebecca

  My phone pings with a text notification, waking me up from a foggy half sleep. I groan and swallow the ache in my throat, in my body. Worst. Night. Ever.

  I pull my hands out from under my pillow and hold them up to catch the sunlight, studying the skin for sparkles or green glowy bits as I turn them this way and that. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Could I have imagined it? As soon as I reached my room last night, the color had dissipated, and by the time I’d paced back and forth a few times, it was completely gone. I washed them just in case—in case of what, I have no clue. But it seemed like something to do.

  After that I couldn’t sleep. There was no movie night with Dad, no fake family fun time. I just told him I was tired when he knocked on my door to ask if I was ready. Then I turned off my light and stared at the ceiling until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. Even with my eyes closed, I don’t think that I ever actually slept.

  I roll over and check my phone. Seven thirty in the morning.

  And it’s Samantha who texted me. No surprise; she gets done with her first hour of dance around this time.

  Ok, so I know we haven’t talked about it but WTF is up with this dog monster? Did we srsly see that thing?

  How could it have taken her more than twenty-four hours to say something? Maybe her brain wouldn’t let it digest at first.

  I text back, I know, it’s scary. My thumb hovers over the “Send” button, wondering if I should say more. I’m unsure how to keep from dragging her into the mess. But then, it might be too late for that now. So I add, Let me know if you need to talk more about it. You can come over and stay the night tonight if you want.

  I text Connor, Good morning, with a heart, and ask him how he’s feeling. And then I’m at a loss as to what to do next. I stare more at my ceiling but get annoyed at how useless I am, so I get up and go for my box of art supplies. I toss a tablet, a sharpener, and charcoal pencils on my desk, then I sit in my chair, flipping open the sketchbook and picking up a pencil.