Darkness Savage (The Dark Cycle Book 3)

by Rachel A. Marks

  The blogger looks down at his body then up at me again. “I don’t know. I think so. I remember someone singing.”

  I walk past him and open the back door. But I freeze, unable to move outside. There’s no yard. The sky greets me, the same stars above me, now in front of me and below, as if the burnt-out house floats in a void.

  “I don’t like this place,” the blogger says.

  I shut the door slowly, trying to think. “Me neither.” Am I stuck here? Have I stayed too long? I move to the side of the dead man and kneel by his body. His throat is cut open, a thick slice that gapes on the side where his artery is. Blood soaks his band T-shirt, his cargo shorts, and pools around him in thick splotches. I’d be surprised if he had any left inside his body.

  “You should’ve already crossed over by now,” I say. “But since your body’s still here, I can send your spirit back. Do you want to go?”

  “Send me back?”

  “But I need something from you.”

  He moves away a little. “What?”

  “I’m going to need you to focus. Focus on me, on my face, on this moment.” I reach out and my ghost hand meets the center of his translucent chest. “When you wake up, I need you to remember everything. All of it, the magic, the feeling of being dead, and the feeling of resurrection. Can you do that for me?”

  A frown creases his brow. “Resurrection?”

  “Just say you’ll remember.”

  “I will,” he says, hesitantly. “I’ll remember.”

  I remove my hand from his chest. “Do you understand why people can’t know? This isn’t something they can understand, and it’s worth more than a few hits on a blog.”

  He nods.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Daxter.” But he says it like a question. And then, more sure, he says, “Daxter Jonas Banks. But my friends call me DJ.”

  “Okay, DJ, don’t be afraid.” I reach out to his dead body and touch his temple, then look back up at him. “Can you feel that?”

  His eyes have gone wide and he nods, reaching up to touch the same spot with his ghost hand.

  I keep my fingers on his temple and focus my energy on my mark, on my power, finding it easily, the flames instantly sliding from my ghost chest and down my arm. In this place it seems I don’t have any confusion or trouble controlling my abilities.

  “Just try not to stalk me anymore, okay?” I say. Then I push my fire into the skin of the dead man and watch as a line from my mark slithers off my wrist, onto his face, trailing to wrap itself around his neck, over the gaping wound. His ghost disappears, the blood soaking back into him as the slice in his neck seals back together, healing in seconds. And in a flash of light his body’s gone.

  And I’m alone.

  I stand again and look around, wondering what to do next. The sky above still blinks at me, stars pulsing, but no blue light appears like last time to slide across the sky and take me home. No power seems willing to send me back.

  I return to the spot where I died and study the charred wood floor. I can still see a part of the large stain from my blood, along with the ash remains of a demon. Then I notice the shadow of crimson smears and drops trailing away. I follow them with my eyes, seeing they go into the kitchen and out the back door. Someone took my body outside. Logic says they took Connor and Finger, too. But there’s no way to know for sure. I’m trapped. Am I dead for good this time?

  Is this really how it ends?

  It can’t be. Connor’s dead, Finger . . . and Rebecca’s lost. What were all the warnings and talk of Lights and spells and—well, all of it—what was all of it meant to be about if this is how it ends?

  You always ask this question, a voice says. I look to my right then my left, but I know I won’t see anyone. The voice came from above me. It came from inside of me. It’s a voice made of falling rain and thunder, vastness and power, but somehow it’s a quiet stillness, the soft current of a river, at the same time. I wonder at how quickly you forget my eyes upon you. Have patience, Little Flame. It could be a rebuke, but the tone is gentle.

  “I need to—how do I get back?”

  Have you not asked the power within you to return you into the realm of gravity and time?

  I’m not sure what it means. Ask my power?

  The power within you is the same that created your world, the same that set the stars above you, a piece of eternity, and it was gifted to you. Not for your withholding, but for the purpose of my Will. Still, you choose to remain weak?

  I look down at the mark on my arm, and the awareness of this voice, the truth of what—of who—it is, ripples through me. I should fall on my knees, hiding my face. I should beg for mercy. But there’s no anger or disapproval in the presence. Merely concern and maybe a sliver of sorrow.

  Something brushes gently at my shoulder, as if a hand is resting there. I turn to look but there’s no one. I’m alone.

  I cannot show you my face. So understand, I am not absent, I merely come to you in other ways.

  My eyes are drawn back to the sky, my heart full of questions.

  There will come a day when you will understand. Do not despise your very human mistakes, or feel remorse for following after what you thought was right.

  “You’re going to send me back.” I don’t say it as a question, because I feel the decision in the air around me.

  I am.

  “Is that really what you want? I’m not . . . I’m just breaking everything.” I think of the nurse, of Lester. Of Connor and Finger, of Rebecca and so many others who have been lost because of me. Because I exist.

  There’s a pause in the presence, and the stars above me seem to shift. Man cannot break what I have set in motion. In pain there is healing, in death there is life, all things are rebirth, a circle returning to its origin. All things will find balance. And in the end, peace will find you. I will always find you.

  The words soak into my skin, etching something secret and comforting into my bones. And I realize, I’m going to go back. I’m still stuck walking through the minefield my mistakes have created. “I came here to save my friends. Where are they?”

  I know who you seek. One is here with me, and one has returned.

  No. “Who? Who’s with you? I was weak, I couldn’t stop their deaths. But they can’t die. Please. Not yet.”

  It will be their choice. I will ask them what they wish.

  “But . . .”

  That is all I can do. And if you seek answers, they will only come in the land of the dead. Not here. If you wish for me to take you forward to be with your friend, I will. But I see your heart. You would rather return and save the others. Your soul yearns to make it right. Allow it the journey.

  I look up at the sky again, feeling torn, lost. The voice stirs something inside of me, it reminds me of the comfort of my mother’s arms, the soothing rhythm of her voice as she sang Ava to sleep. It reminds me of home. And I crave it.

  You have stayed too long with me, it says. Your hold on earth is fading. But know that if you lose your grip on flesh again, your ability to return will be weakened even more. You may remain Between. Do you understand?

  “I won’t be able to resurrect again if I die?”

  No. And when you return in a moment, time will have passed. Powers will have shifted. Whatever comes to pass, allow your heart to settle into living once the tide of Darkness fades back into the shadows. The voice pauses and a thin curve of teal light begins to emerge in the dark sky. It pulses brighter, like it’s following the beat of a heart as it moves closer, slinking across the expanse toward me. Something in me struggles, not wanting to leave yet, not wanting to have lost either of my friends.

  Trust that it will be well. There are things I have not shown you yet. And soon your father will come to you again. I would ask you to be kind. He has been struggling in his return to flesh. Remind him of my forgiveness. Remind him of the love I have for him.

  I watch the beat of the glow as it widens, feeling it in m
y chest.

  Perhaps this love can come from you.

  The fluorescent sky is all around me now, the heat of it, the pulse of it, pressing in as it grows hotter and hotter. A scorching mass moving closer, enveloping me with its sharp sting of fire, pouring over me. Until all that remains is the blaze against my skin, sinking in with its pounding beat, heavy and forever. As it pushes through my lungs.

  And I’m submerged in the fire of it, a cry of pain tearing from my chest.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Rebecca

  I’m numb as I walk back through the trees. I know my feet are torn to shreds, that my skin is tight with the chill settling inside me, but all I can focus on is finding my dad again. I have to keep moving.

  I stumble, grabbing onto a tree for support, then I take a few deep breaths and continue walking. I have to keep . . . moving. So I take one more step, then another, ignoring my bleeding knees, ignoring my bruised wrists. Instead I think of how relieved my dad will be to see me, how amazing it will be to take a shower. I don’t let my mind go to the man at the gas station. Or the fact that I trapped a demon in the ground with some magical ability to control nature.

  Instead I picture Connor, the way he looks at me, and I promise the universe if I see him again, I’ll only scold him a little for pushing me away, or maybe not at all. If I could just feel his arms around me, hear his voice . . .

  “Rebecca!”

  My name. Someone’s calling my name. The sound travels through the trees, muffled by the soft ground and the surrounding brush.

  “Rebecca!” Closer now.

  I open my mouth to call back, to say where I am, but my voice won’t work. I stumble again, stubbing my toe on a rock, falling to my hands and knees. More deep breaths, and then I find my way up, holding on to whatever I can reach for support.

  “Rebecca!” Connor. I hear Connor.

  Here! my mind screams. But it comes out of my mouth as barely a breath. I’m right here.

  I slide down to the leaves, my leg muscles done holding me up, but I crawl for several feet before my arms won’t hold me anymore, my eyes won’t stay open, and I can’t . . . keep . . . moving.

  I collapse and curl into a ball, holding my legs pressed into me to keep warm. Feet crunch on the ground nearby, close, then closer. Then they stop.

  “Rebecca!” Instead of a shout, it’s a gasp this time. Then the sounds of scrambling and someone’s beside me, lifting me off the ground. “Rebecca, can you hear me?” His voice sounds raspy and weak. Fingers press into my neck and a sigh of relief escapes him, then lips press to my forehead. “Thank God, oh, God.” Am I dreaming?

  You came, I say to him without words, so grateful. My Connor. He cradles me to his chest. He smells like salt and heat and I want to open my eyes but then the dream of him will leave me again. And I don’t want to wake up.

  “We should be taking her to the hospital,” I hear my dream Connor say, his tone odd, like he has a cold. He lulled me into stillness until he set me down a moment ago, laying me on something that chilled my skin. It’s so lovely to hear his voice, even if it is raspy and frustrated.

  “I have a doctor who will come to us,” a second voice says. It sounds like my dad. “The ER will take too long. Just drive to the house.”

  “What about your arm?”

  “It’ll have to stay broken tonight. I’ll wrap it up for now, then I can go get it set once we’re sure she’s all right.”

  An engine revs and I feel myself moving even though I’m lying down. Where am I? It smells like coconut and seaweed. It doesn’t make any sense. I chance a peek through my eyelashes to the back of a seat.

  My head pounds the wider my eyes get, but I look up, see Connor’s profile. There’s something wrong with his neck, a bandage. But with him close, I couldn’t care less how much my head aches. It wasn’t a dream. And my dad! I sit up with a lurch, realizing he’s in the passenger seat in front of me, but then my gut surges, and I lower my head with a groan.

  My dad turns around and touches my arm, like he’s making sure I’m real, too. “Rebecca, you’re awake.” He seems relieved, but then caution laces his tone. “Just relax, sweetie. Try to be still, all right?”

  I consider a nod but it hurts too much.

  “I grabbed a couple of waters at the gas station,” Connor says to my dad. “Shoved them under your seat. She might be dehydrated.”

  My dad leans over and pulls out a bottle of water, then opens it before handing it to me. “Drink it slow.”

  I take it from him, sipping a little. As soon as it touches my dry lips, my skin seems to cry out for more, but I only drink a little before putting the lid back on and resting my head on the seat again. I hug the bottle to my chest, sighing in relief. Everything is a mess inside me right now, but the simple rocking of the Jeep, the sound of the road beneath us, and the feel of my two favorite people with me settles it all. I close my eyes again, drifting in the calm, until I’m falling back to sleep.

  Someone’s carrying me. I hear the sound of doors opening and closing just before familiar smells wrap around me, and I’m being set down on a soft surface. I open my eyes and see my purple duvet, then look up to Connor, amazed again at his presence. He sets my water bottle on my nightstand and just stands there, staring down at me as I look up at him.

  I motion to my neck while looking at his and manage to scratch out, “What happened?”

  He just shakes his head.

  My dad comes in the room, and Connor steps to the side, giving him space. Dad kneels beside the bed and puts his hand gently to my forehead. Then he kisses me, and I feel his tears on my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  I give a little nod as he pulls away, but I can’t seem to manage words yet. Am I all right? I don’t know. I have so many questions, about what happened, about my dad and what he’s thinking, what he saw. How is he so calm about it all?

  He rises and pulls my blanket off the bottom of the bed, laying it over me, tucking it around my shoulders with his good hand. His other arm is bound against his chest, tied with a makeshift sling made from what looks like a linen kitchen towel. “Just rest for now. We’ll clean you up later.” Then he kisses my head again before he turns to Connor. “Will you sit with her while I make some phone calls?”

  Connor gives a small nod and watches my dad walk from the room, his troubled look deepening as he faces me.

  I reach out a hand to him.

  He comes closer, taking my fingers in his. A part of me wonders if he’s scared of me, if he knows what I can do somehow, but another part of me doesn’t care. Because I want to forget all the tension from before and have him close right now. I scoot slowly over and pull him toward me, urging him onto the bed.

  He pauses, taking his fingers away. “I can’t Rebecca,” he says. “Your father.”

  I part my dried lips. “Please.”

  His features crumble and he doesn’t hesitate anymore. He lowers himself onto the bed beside me, settling a foot away, his back against the headboard. He reaches out and touches my shoulder gently. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” His voice sounds strained, like mine. Like it’s hard for him to talk.

  I want to ask him what happened again, why he has a bandage on his throat, but I’m just so relieved to be home, to be safe beside him. I tip my head toward his thigh and close my eyes, feeling his fingers slide across my shoulder, into my hair where they run through tangled strands, delicately pulling leaves and needles from them one at a time, until he’s just touching my temple, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over my eyebrow.

  My emotions stir with his gentle caress, all the terror and shock and pain of the last twenty-four hours welling up in a rush. Tears fill my throat but I don’t want to show them, I don’t want him to pull away. I just can’t seem to stop it. It shakes my body, forcing me to curl tighter into a ball. I press my forehead into his thigh and try to hold it all in, try not to feel it.

  Connor scoots down and pulls me closer, cradling me to h
is chest. He wraps his arms around me. He kisses my filthy hair as he whispers over me, “I’m here.”

  I’m almost asleep again when I hear my dad come back in the room. Connor has me cradled in the curve of his body, his strong arms holding me tight. Safe.

  My dad comes around to the other side of the bed so I can see him, and I realize his features are shadowed. Connor is obviously asleep because he doesn’t move at the sight of my dad—his breathing stays steady and soft against the back of my neck. After a second of staring my dad looks at the ground and starts to pace back and forth in front of my window seat.

  I manage to find my voice a little easier this time, though it’s barely a whisper. “Daddy.”

  He stops and turns, moving to the side of the bed. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and reach out a hand to him, urging him to sit. “Don’t worry. Are you okay?”

  He takes my hand and sits as he shakes his head. “I thought I’d lost you, little girl.” His thumb caresses my knuckles. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I should’ve been here. I didn’t know . . . I was still letting myself get buried with work, I wasn’t paying attention.”

  I don’t know what he means, but I squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. “It’s going to be okay now.”

  He frowns and looks away. “I’m not sure.”

  My pulse stutters at his words. And I know he’s hiding something from me.

  Connor shifts behind me and his breath changes, then he goes still against me before slowly moving away as he sits up. “Sir, I’m sorry. I feel asleep.”

  My dad doesn’t seem to be paying attention, though. His eyes are trained on the window, and he’s obviously lost in thought. Just when I’m going to try and ask him what’s wrong, he turns back and looks at me. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetie. And some food. Do you know when you ate last?”

  I shake my head, wishing he wouldn’t glaze over things and pretend like he’s not disturbed by something. Not now, not after everything.