Darkness Savage (The Dark Cycle Book 3)

by Rachel A. Marks

  I go to my bag and pull out the blood pen I got from my box and immediately write back, No more riddles, Ava. What do you want? Just get to the point. I watch the words burn in and wait.

  Nope, comes back as the answer.

  I get the urge to shove the paper down the garbage disposal, but instead I just put a book on top of it so I don’t have to look at it anymore. I have to hope the answer to this hint comes to me like the others did. Another life in the balance. And I’m still no closer to understanding why.

  It’s time to just do this bonding spell and get some control over something. Rebecca was obviously one of Ava’s targets, and might still be. She needs more power to defend herself. And so do the rest of them.

  I find the journal in my pile of books and flip it open to the bonding spell. It hits me again how big this magic is, all the intricate details and layers. I see several familiar Enochian runes, but most of it—writing and symbols—is completely alien. There are a few notes here and there, some instructions on which oils to use, that sage should be burned in the area, and it very clearly states that no mistakes can be made in the transfer of the drawing. It has to be perfect or it won’t work.

  I run my fingers over the blood ink, and it vibrates, warming under my skin.

  Eric said I need at least eight Lights to distribute my power to, because it’ll harm them if it’s not spread out enough. So far Tray isn’t budging. But maybe there’s a way around having eight. If there is, the answer isn’t in the journal. And Eric is on the other side of the Veil.

  I grab my phone and call Hanna, knowing she’s aware of how to contact him. I explain a little of what’s going on, and ask her to please pass a message to Eric: Is there any way to do the bonding ceremony with only seven? Hopefully she’ll get back to me with Eric’s answers quick.

  I feel like we’re running out of time. This thing with Ava will come to a head soon. But what happens then? Something tells me the game will be a cakewalk compared to the finale.

  My phone pings with a text. When I rush to look, it’s not Hanna but Holly.

  It’s official. You hv a fan page on FB & your very own hashtag: #BurnLikeBlink. Get it? Because you “blinked” out? ROTFLOL.

  I sneak over to the house after midnight. When I pull into the driveway, I’m thrilled to see the shed’s been torn down. The boards are stacked against the fence just like I asked Jax to do before I left this morning. I want to hug him. The energy in the yard feels much lighter than before.

  I heard back from Hanna, and she sent out the message to Eric, so hopefully I’ll have answers about the spell soon.

  When I walk through the back door of the house and head across the kitchen, I’m stunned to see Sid sitting up on the couch with a plate on his lap and one beside him, both topped with a mountain of food. His skin is still pale, and his cheeks are sunken, but he smiles when he spots me.

  “You’re not very good at hiding,” Holly scolds me.

  I make a beeline for Sid, but then pause before touching him. He looks so fragile. I don’t want to break him.

  “Sit, son,” he says in a raspy voice.

  Elation fills me at the sound of his voice, him calling me son, and I have to smile. As much as it used to piss me off, I hadn’t thought I’d hear him call me anything again after what I saw the other night. I move the second plate of food to the coffee table and sit beside him.

  “How’re you feeling?” I ask, looking him over closely.

  “Tired,” he says. “Very tired. But I’m so glad to see your face. And the others. I was lost for a moment there.”

  “Lost?”

  He just gives me a slow smile and pats my hand. “Tell me what has happened. I heard from Jax that you think Tray may be a Light. And Holly said Rebecca was having trouble. Are things better there?”

  I don’t want to talk about any of that with him. “Let’s just sit.”

  He nods, looking a little relieved.

  Kara comes in; her face is lit up. She motions to Sid. “He’s better!”

  Holly gives me a sideways look. “He’s not eating.”

  “And he’s not in a coma, either,” Kara snaps back.

  Holly rolls her eyes and walks away.

  Jax comes in, grabs the remote, then flips on the TV as he plops on the loveseat beside a silent Finger.

  “Let’s see what the world is saying,” he says.

  I cringe and start to ask him to turn it off, but Kara grabs my hand. “We need to know, Aidan. We need to know how to get around this.”

  So I just sit back and close my eyes as Jax flips through the channels, finally settling on one of the midnight gossip shows. They’re talking about some actress who took her top off at a nightclub, the cohosts joking back and forth about what her next role might be. Raul walks in and starts adding to the snark like he’s a part of the show. He seems to know an awful lot about the people they’re talking about. And when Holly comes in, it gets even more ridiculous as they start to argue about who the actress is dating. Jax tells them both to shut up, twice, but neither seems to notice.

  I start to doze off with Kara’s head on my shoulder and her fingers laced through mine. I let the noise and the familiar sounds of bickering calm me. It’s soothing, like home. I smile and breathe, thankful in the moment.

  Then someone is hitting my leg.

  I open my eyes to Jax’s hysterical laughter. “Your superhero name is lame-ass, man. Blink Boy, seriously?”

  “I liked when the girl they interviewed on the street called him a Titan,” Holly says.

  Jax snorts. “He’s not big enough to be a Titan.”

  “I like the alien theory,” Kara says, kissing my cheek. “You missed when the close-up magician was on, showing examples of ways to disappear a rabbit.”

  How long was I asleep?

  “The television people are having fun with it, aren’t they?” Sid says, sounding amused as well. “It’s quite interesting to see how they are processing things they can’t explain.”

  “Maybe you should just come fully out of the closet,” Holly says. “Go on the show and make a Twitter account, Blink Boy.” She grins wide. “I’d sew you an outfit; mask, cape, and all.”

  “Very funny,” I say.

  I look over at the TV and see several people sitting on a couch, talking animatedly like they’re arguing. They’re different people than before so this must be a different show. The bar at the bottom of the screen reads, “Science Fiction Come to Life or Elaborate Hoax?”

  “Well, I’ve had enough,” I say, standing. All the weird attention is making me feel even more vulnerable than I already am. They want to pick me apart, understand me, name me. It’s creepy as fuck.

  Kara stands quickly. “You can’t go yet. You’ve only been here a few hours.”

  “I can’t stay long,” I say.

  She takes my hand and leads me out onto the back porch and makes me sit beside her on the swing. She curls against me and puts her arms around me. “I need to feel you close. Even if it’s just for a little while more.”

  I run my fingers through her dark hair, let the vanilla smell of her shampoo fill my head, and try to enjoy the night air, as we sit in silence.

  “We haven’t talked about today,” she whispers eventually. “About Tray and everything. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” But I don’t know how I feel. As much as we need him for the spell, I’m almost more worried about him joining us at this point. “I sent a message to Eric to see if he thought we could do the spell with seven instead.”

  “I wonder what it’ll feel like.”

  “What?”

  She props herself up on my chest so she can look me in the eyes. “You know, your power becoming a part of me.”

  “You’re a part of me, so it’s only fair,” I say. I skim my fingers over her jaw and slide my thumb over the dimple in her cheek. “You’re so beautiful. Sometimes I look at you, and I can barely breathe. Love doesn’t feel like a big enough word for how my spirit
needs you. I never thought a heart could feel this way, not for real.”

  Pink rises to her cheeks, and I revel in how my words affect her.

  “We’re going to get through this,” she says, like I’m saying good-bye.

  But I’m not. I’m just soaking in the moment. “It doesn’t matter,” I say.

  She frowns. “Of course it does.”

  “No,” I whisper, pulling her in to take her lips with mine. “The only thing that matters is this. Now.”

  “You’re making me nervous,” she says, leaning away a little, fear in her voice. “You make it sound like you’re going off to war.”

  “I am. We all are.”

  She studies my eyes, and I see she’s trying to think of some way to say it’s not true. But she can’t.

  So, I kiss her furrowed brow, I kiss her cheek, her lips. I hold her to me and try to help her to understand what I mean without words.

  I sit on my foster brother’s beanbag chair and watch Lindsey Sawyer as she perches on the bed across from me, resting her chem lab book on her lap. She lives a few doors down, so she said we could study together sometimes. And by study, she meant make out.

  She seems nervous now that we’re alone in my room, and I start to doubt that she’ll let me kiss her again. I’m definitely doubting the text she sent me after school today.

  I wanna try going all the way this time. Bring a condom.

  I almost pissed my pants when I read it. Girls always seem to steer clear of me, making me feel a bit like a leper. I even checked for demons around her when I watched her walk to the bus. Is she serious? She’ll just have sex with me after a few “study sessions”? The girl barely knows me—beyond which breath mint I prefer.

  And she isn’t exactly an easy A. Neither am I, though.

  But now something about being alone in this tiny room with her again, thinking of the last few times she kissed me and let me feel her up, what she’s going to let me have, it’s making her seem much more attractive than when I first met her a few weeks ago. The way her brown hair is twisted up and pinned to her head makes her neck look very . . . kissable. And I remember she tastes like strawberry lip gloss. Which I know is a total cliché, but damn is it tasty on her.

  She sets the book aside, pops her gum, and twists her feet inward, knocking her knees together, blocking my view up her skirt. Not that I was looking. I wasn’t.

  Okay, I may have considered it. But I didn’t do it.

  “So,” I say, feeling the awkwardness emerge between us as we both contemplate what we’ve decided to embark on. This is it. This is when I finally get a taste of what makes the world turn. I just wish it wasn’t in this hellhole of a house, with that rat demon right outside the door that’s always following my foster father around.

  The air in this room is a little better than in some of the other parts of the house since I cleanse it with sage regularly, but it’s still full of the buzzing remnants of my foster father’s rampage last night. My cheek and arm have a few marks to remember the tirade by, too. But I can pretend they’re there because I fell off my skateboard.

  “I only have a half hour,” Lindsey says, scooting off the edge of the bed, down to the floor in front of me. “We could just skip some of the first parts since we’ve done those already.” She tilts her head, and I have to wonder if she has a checklist in her brain of all the things she’s wanted to try. All the items except one are crossed off, apparently.

  “Okay, well . . .” And I’m drawing a blank because she’s reaching for the zipper of my jeans.

  As she pops the button, I bark out a nervous laugh and scoot back, beanbag and all.

  “What? Don’t you have a condom?”

  “I do. I mean, I will.” After I figure out which foster brother to ask. Or which drawer to look in. “But maybe we should kiss some,” I add, feeling lame.

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” She winks and pulls the gum from her mouth, pressing it to the bed frame behind her with her thumb. I have trouble looking away from the green glistening glob for several seconds, but then she’s climbing on my lap, looming over me, and sticking her tongue down my throat.

  After I settle into the kissing, it’s actually kind of nice. I get her nestled into my side so I can be in control more, and soon we’re sinking into a rhythm, my hand beginning to roam a little farther than last time, and my mind starting to imagine what it’ll feel like when I’ve finally crossed the line. Because I’m going to cross it. I’m going to fucking laser blast it.

  She’s moaning and making me feel very masculine again, and I’m just about to—

  Something bangs on the door, and my foster father’s nicotine-plowed voice comes through the wood. “Fuck-up turd, the phone’s for you.”

  Lindsey unlatches her face from mine, her breath coming in tiny gasps. “What time is it?” She scoots her skirt back down and grabs her shirt off the floor where it landed a few minutes ago. She flips over her phone. “Oh, shit, I’m gonna be late for the movies.”

  I blink at her as she pulls the gum off the bed where she’d left it and sticks it back in her mouth.

  My gut rises.

  Last time I kiss her. Ever.

  “I told you I only had a half hour.” She actually sounds irritated at me.

  I grab my shirt and pull it over my head, feeling annoyed right back. “Yeah, well, what can I say, I’m not a fast sale.”

  When she picks up her chem lab book, I spot a text on her phone from a guy in my gym class, who I’m guessing she’s meeting for the movie. Or should I say, date?

  “Whatever.” She pops her gum. “Your loss.”

  I want to laugh but it’s just too depressing.

  “Say hi to Trenton for me,” I say as I open the bedroom door, ushering her out.

  And I’m greeted by the stubbled, round face of my foster father. The rat demon that’s always following him licks Lindsey’s leg as she walks by.

  He holds out the phone for me. “That was quick, turd. You might wanna practice more.”

  I grab the phone from him and put it to my ear, my chest aching from the need to hit something. “Yeah,” I say through my teeth.

  The sound of trembling breath comes from the other end of the line. And a small voice whispers, “There’s blood, Aidan. So much blood.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rebecca

  I’m not sure what to think about last night. Samantha leaves early, heading straight to the dance studio, and I’m left alone and confused. I asked her if she smelled anything, fire or burnt paper, or if anything had woken her up, but she insisted that it was the best night’s sleep she’d had in forever.

  I can’t just pretend it’s all fine. I’ve got a demon after me, I’ve got some hidden witchy power ready to burst out of me. I need to make sure that a repeat of last night doesn’t happen. First step, I text the image of the drawing to Aidan and ask if that symbol means anything. Second, I resolve never to ever draw like that again. Whatever was controlling me, my subconscious, my inner spirit, or something else, it doesn’t seem like it’s heading in a positive direction.

  Hopefully Aidan will get back to me quickly.

  I still haven’t heard back from Connor. Instead of hurt, I’m starting to get offended. Why’s he being such a jerk? I’m so tired of waiting for a guy to get his crap together. I decide to let out a little of my frustration and go back to my texts, typing in, So much for dependable Connor.

  After sending it I feel ill, but I try to shove it down. I can’t keep letting people walk all over me. It’s my new life motto.

  Dad’s left for work, so it’s just me and the empty house, full of questions. Margaritte has the week off, so I end up nervous-cleaning for an hour, scrubbing the ring of ashes off the carpet in my closet and rearranging my art supplies into the Rubbermaid box, sliding them back onto a very high shelf. Then I vacuum my room and dust things that were just dusted.

  I’m so relieved when the doorbell rings, interrupting my cleaning binge, that I run downstai
rs and fling the door open without checking the peephole.

  It’s a woman in what looks like a Denny’s uniform. Her hair’s askew, a smudge of ketchup on her cheek. She stares through me, still as death.

  “How can I help you?” I ask, hesitantly. The hair on my arm prickles. I shut the door a little, hiding behind it.

  “I have something for you,” she says, her voice almost robotic. “Can I give it to you now?”

  “No, thank you.” I start to close the door more. “I’m good.” But before it latches, it’s stopped by a firm hand.

  “I said no, thank you,” is all I can think to say as I push with everything I have at the door. It doesn’t budge, it just opens back toward me so I can see her again.

  “I heard you,” the woman says. Dread climbs up my spine, and I’m suddenly aware that this is no woman, no ordinary person. Her eyes are glazed over, almost filmy.

  Then I hear something, a drip, drip, drip onto the stone. I follow the sound with my gaze and—

  A terror-filled moan comes from deep in my chest as I stare at the mutilated possum in her fist, its insides spilling from it, blood, red and shiny, pooling at her feet.

  My stomach rises. My breath comes in gasps, the panic fills every muscle. I shove and shove at the door, but I can’t shut it, I can’t shut the door. The horror burns in my lungs, courses through every inch of me. What is she?

  Through the fog of dread I hear, “It’s just a curse from the queen. Don’t be afraid. We can’t have all these pesky wards getting in the way.” And then the dead animal is plopped on the doorstep with a wet splat. A curse. “She wants you to know that you did well against the creature at Miss Mae’s. She’s been watching you. But it’s nearly time to choose a side.” The woman backs up a step, and the door shuts with a loud bang as she lets go.

  I latch and lock the deadbolt, hands trembling, mind panicking.

  Even as I stumble away, I can sense the sick rot of the curse through the door.