Gathering Black (Devilborn Book 2)

by Jen Rasmussen

  We turned onto Fenwick Street, and approached Number Twelve with caution, like it was a dangerous creature. Which I supposed, in a way, it was. Or so I hoped.

  “Do you feel anything out here?” Arabella whispered as we came near.

  I shook my head. “And even if I did, I’d look pretty conspicuous standing out front. I’ll just have to wait to try to connect until we get inside.”

  “Okay,” Arabella said. “Showtime. You can do this.”

  Can I?

  My knock was answered promptly, by a beefy man as big as Michael. He didn’t bother asking who we were or why we were there, only stepped aside to let us in.

  The house was much as I remembered it, although it seemed a long time since I’d first been there. Even as I looked around, desperate for some sign of Cooper, I was reaching out with my mind, trying to sense the place itself, hoping that my guesses about its energy would be correct.

  I found only my own jumble of fear, confusion, and fatigue—we’d been up all night, after all. And running through it all was Joshua’s vague, hazy voice.

  He’ll drain you all dry.

  Balls, Verity, snap out of it, I ordered myself. Or he really will.

  Two other men came into the foyer to join the first. “We’ll take your weapons,” one of them said.

  “You won’t,” I said, if only to stall. “You’ll take us to Talon, if you please.”

  The man who’d spoken crossed his arms. “You’ll give us your weapons first.”

  “It’s all right, Jerry.”

  Talon’s voice, coming from the parlor a short way down the hall to our right. The parlor where, according to Michael, they were keeping Cooper. My heart was pounding hard enough for me to feel it throbbing in my ears.

  I took a deep breath, taking in the musty, decrepit scent of the place, trying again to reach out to the house.

  Once again I felt nothing, and it terrified me. The feeling in Number Twelve had been so strong, had hit me so hard, both times we’d visited Dalton there. How could there be nothing now? Was I failing out of panic, or was there something more sinister at work? I wondered whether it was possible that Talon had somehow suppressed the place, and brought it under his own control.

  But maybe, even if I couldn’t sense the house, it could sense me.

  I understand now, I told it. Why you were so watchful, so wistful. I understand, and I can help.

  You can be happy again. You can be fine again.

  Make your mistress’s enemies unwelcome, and I will try to bring her home for you.

  I concentrated as hard as I could on projecting these thoughts, but there was no time to repeat them, or feel out any response. Talon appeared in the open archway between the rooms, dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, thin hair neatly combed. He wanted only a travel mug, to complete his Halloween costume of a computer programmer on his way to casual Friday at the office.

  “Let them keep their false sense of security, if it makes them happy.” He gestured at us, a thin smile on his pointy face. “Come in, please.”

  We did, although I didn’t like to turn my back on the security guards. Talon stepped aside to let us into the parlor, which forced us to turn our backs on him, too, and I really didn’t like that. But a moment later such practical concerns were driven from my mind.

  “Cooper!”

  I rushed forward. I knew I shouldn’t have, knew I should have kept my head the way a Blackwood—the way a badass—would have. But I couldn’t help it. As heavily as I’d been carrying my fear for him, I don’t think I really understood the full weight of that burden until I saw him.

  He was tied to the same chair as in the picture, although the chopping block, at least, was gone. His shirt had been removed. He was covered in blood, more even than in the barn. So much blood that I couldn’t see through it to the wounds he lacked the vitality to heal. I ran my hands over his chest, his cheeks. His skin was clammy and cold.

  In another chair beside him, not tied but looking equally bloody and spent, was Dalton Blackwood. And I guessed I was wrong about that Blackwood discipline after all, because Arabella, exercising no more self-control than I had, fell to her knees to embrace her father.

  “Arabella,” he whispered. “I wish you hadn’t come.”

  He moved so suddenly and so quickly, and I was so preoccupied with Cooper, that I didn’t quite follow what he did.

  All I knew was that in a flash, Arabella was in handcuffs.

  Everything after that happened just as fast. The room seemed to be swarming with armed men, although in truth it was only five or six. I drew my—or more properly, Joshua’s—gun and fired at one of them, but I was never much of a shot (liability), and I did no more than graze his shoulder before he hit me in the knee.

  I collapsed, screaming and half-blinded by the pain. The worst agony I’ve ever felt was losing a piece of my soul, but I can tell you, getting shot in the knee is a not-too-distant second. Much worse than getting shot in the shoulder.

  There was more noise, Arabella shouting, Talon laughing. But the outcome was all but decided from the second we’d knocked on the door, as we’d well known. It must have been less than a minute, all told, before I was propped up against the wall beside Cooper, and Arabella was tossed into the chair her father had occupied, her hands cuffed behind her.

  Six men were in the room now, besides Talon, all pointing guns at us.

  Arabella yelled and hurled insults at Dalton, and generally carried on, but she was the only one shocked by his treachery.

  Talon smirked at her. “I suppose Michael and Joshua showed you the picture? We made sure it was lifelike, for the benefit of all the men we sent out in the field. We’ve got to keep you on your toes, don’t we?”

  Dalton said nothing, and kept his face turned away from his daughter entirely.

  Talon looked around, as if noticing for the first time that we’d arrived on our own. “Where are Michael and Joshua, by the way?” Then he waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I assume this is the box,” the one called Jerry said, and handed my puzzle box to Talon.

  Talon barely glanced at it before he laughed and tossed it aside. “Those idiots.”

  His movements were unnaturally fast; he must have been feeding a lot. In a blur he was across the room and crouched in front of me, his face too close to mine. He pressed a finger to the bullet hole in my jeans. I bit my lip until I drew blood, to keep from crying out.

  “You know, I would have been a little disappointed if you had brought it,” Talon said. “It’ll be so much more fun to force you to tell me how to break your spell.”

  He increased the pressure on my wound, and I lost my will to remain stoic. I screamed, then whimpered as Talon brought his bloody thumb to his mouth and slowly licked it off.

  Come on, Verity. You’re the only one who can stop this.

  I reached out yet again, trying desperately to establish some connection to the house. And for a brief, hopeful second, I thought I sensed it. Watchful, as it had been before. Yearning, longing.

  But also sullen. Even Dalton was an intruder here. It was Serena’s energy that suffused this place, and her family’s.

  Her enemies were trespassers. And the house wanted them gone.

  I was right.

  Come on then, house. We can write a happy ending together, can’t we?

  But it was too late. Talon pulled me close, like a child hugging a rag doll, and started to feed.

  I was overwhelmed by the sickening familiar cold, but also by a flare of hot pain, as he leaned on my wounded knee. I tried again to appeal to the house, to think of the spells in my pocket, to muster some will to work.

  But all I could do was scream.

  “Verity!”

  Cooper’s voice, hoarse and broken. My cries must have roused him. He began to thrash around. Despite how drained he was, he might have broken the chair in his desperation to get to me.

  But Dalton, hurrying around behind him, threw his ar
ms around Cooper’s chest to keep him still.

  That was the last thing I saw before my blurring vision gave out entirely, and everything went black.

  Smell was the first sense that came back to me. The scent of blood and something else, something sharp and hot.

  Then, as if someone had clicked a television on, came the sounds: gunshots, shouts, crashes and bangs.

  Cooper’s voice. But not weak like before. Bellowing out a wordless battle cry, strong and powerful. Angry.

  And… triumphant?

  Am I dreaming?

  I blinked, and for a second I saw him. He was sideways.

  Am I hallucinating?

  No, I was the one who was sideways. On the floor. Cooper was on his feet. Rushing a man—Jerry, I remembered—who was frantically shooting at him, pumping Cooper’s chest full of bullets.

  That won’t help you, Jerry. You’ve got to aim for the head. Didn’t Talon tell you?

  Cooper, oblivious to the gunshots, kept coming. In one fluid, graceful series of movements, he snapped Jerry’s wrist, took his gun, and shot him in the face.

  By the time Jerry’s lifeless body went sideways, too, the open wounds in Cooper’s chest were nearly closed again.

  But that’s impossible.

  He was drained. He was drained almost to death.

  My vision blurred again, colors and indistinct shapes wafting past me. I had the oddest sense of floating.

  Am I dead?

  But no. I still felt pain. And such cold. Surely I wouldn’t feel that if I was dead.

  And then I understood: it wasn’t blurry because my eyes were failing. It was blurry because I was moving so fast. Across the room, flying, like a ball someone had tossed.

  Straight to Talon Wick, who held me upright and spun me outward to shield his body. He locked his forearm across my throat.

  “Test me if you like, Cooper. You’ll find I’m quite strong enough to break her neck.”

  My vision came back, now that I was still again. Unfortunately, very little clarity came with it.

  Cooper stood across the room, pointing a gun at Talon.

  Shifting only my eyes, since I couldn’t move my head, I glanced at the now-empty chair where Cooper had been sitting, tied and unconscious. And almost completely drained.

  He’d couldn’t have the vitality to heal. He couldn’t even have recovered enough to be standing right now. Not unless I’d been out for hours.

  Or unless someone had shared vitality with him.

  Dalton was crumpled on the floor by the chair. I saw a glassiness in his eyes that suggested the worst. Arabella was crouched beside him, crying.

  There were other bodies on the floor, too. All six of Talon’s men, some still clutching weapons. All with gunshot wounds, some with multiple stab wounds, besides.

  That left only Talon.

  But Talon had already been strong when we arrived, and he’d just fed on me. So much that I’d passed out. So much that he’d been able to magic me clear across the room to use as his human shield, to save himself from Cooper.

  And now here we all stood, once again at an impasse.

  “Verity.”

  Cooper’s voice was sharp and strong. Demanding that I focus.

  He’s right. I do need to focus.

  I need to do what I came to do. I need to put an end to this.

  Yes, but not alone.

  I reached one last time for the house, as Cooper and Talon exchanged threats, each telling the other to stand down.

  Maybe it was because I was desperate, like I’d been in the barn, and I worked better under pressure after all. Maybe it was because the house itself could sense an opportunity now. Or maybe Talon really had been blocking its energy, and now he was distracted by Cooper. Whatever the reason, I finally felt the full depth of Number Twelve’s longing, its hunger. Even stronger than I had the first time I’d come.

  Quickly, determined to take advantage of the connection before it could break again, I recalled the words of the spell in my pocket, projecting my will into the space around me, rewriting the story in the present tense.

  This enemy of Serena’s is not welcome here. Number Twelve Fenwick Street deals with the trespasser, and frees itself from Wick control. So that Serena can come home, and the house can be great once again.

  But I was weak, so weak, from being drained by Talon. I didn’t have enough vitality to make anything happen, not on my own.

  Both Cooper and Talon were shouting now, Talon insisting he would rip my head right off my shoulders. To demonstrate, he gave my throat a brutal squeeze. I gagged as a thousand black dots swarmed in front of my eyes.

  Come on, Number Twelve. I can’t do it alone. You have to help me.

  Collaborate with me. Help me write us both a happy ending.

  Please.

  Arabella began to creep along the floor, angling to get a shot at Talon. But Talon saw her and dragged me backward, until his own back was against the wall. The movement jolted my wounded knee so badly I nearly passed out again.

  Talon shouted for them to drop their guns; they shouted for him to let me go.

  And then, as I struggled to regain my concentration, as Cooper hurled demands at Talon, as Talon put his hand on the side of my head and threatened to twist my neck, we were all interrupted by a jarring, incongruous sound: a kitschy, silly song about dancing monsters.

  It blared from somewhere outside, making up in volume what it lacked in sound quality. Probably coming from the little public square at the end of the street, as the neighbors made yet more preparations for Halloween.

  Number Twelve answered its call.

  I felt a fresh surge of ravenousness and righteous hostility from the house, more intense than ever before. Something had been taken from it. Something it wanted back, badly.

  That’s right. You’ve been violated by Talon Wick. Punish him.

  But I knew it wasn’t just that. And I knew it wasn’t just me waking the place up.

  That song. It’s that stupid song.

  Of course. How could I have forgotten?

  Halloween.

  I’d never been a particular fan of the holiday, myself, but I latched onto it now, sensing that it was about to save my life. And take Talon Wick’s.

  Concentrating down to my marrow, I spoke to the house, whispered to it like the serpent in the garden, inflaming it, provoking it.

  The costume ball at Number Twelve. A grand affair, hosted by generation after generation of real witches, looked forward to for months by all of Beacon Hill. The brightest part of one of the biggest nights of the year here.

  You remember, don’t you, Number Twelve? How magnificent you were? And how loved?

  You feel that old anticipation even now, as the time approaches. I felt it in you a month ago.

  But now the day is here. And you’re alone. No guests. No grandeur. No mistress.

  It’s Halloween, and here you are without so much as a decoration in your window. Without so much as a single piece of candy to hand out to a trick-or-treater. You will be dark tonight.

  Dark and utterly forgotten. Forsaken.

  How you’ve fallen.

  I paused then, deliberately letting Number Twelve’s answering rage build around me, even as Talon swore again that he would break my neck, and Cooper and Arabella searched in vain for an opportunity to strike him without hitting me.

  And when I was sure that rage was at its peak, I offered Number Twelve my simple solution.

  You’ve fallen, yes, but you can rise again.

  Rise up and take Talon Wick down.

  Take back what was once yours.

  I summoned every shred of will I could muster, and drained as I was, the energy of Number Twelve took it from there. I felt the crackle of vitality in the air, coming not from a person but from the place itself, humid, hot, full of electricity.

  We were writing our story together. And we would get our happy ending.

  Rid this house of your mistress’s enemies, a
nd I promise you, I will try to bring her home.

  Talon felt it, too, and he really did start to twist my neck then. But it was too late. Even if he’d killed me in that moment, it still would have been too late.

  I’d awakened a dark and vengeful energy, and there was no stopping it now.

  The windows shattered behind me. I felt Talon’s hands twitch, as the glass started to penetrate his neck, and I took advantage of that split second to wrench myself from his grip and drop to the floor.

  I had a feeling that what was coming would not be precise, or selective. Nor would it be merciful, not even toward the one who had just promised it its reclamation. It wouldn’t be capable of mercy.

  I threw my hands over my head as glass rained down.

  Jagged fragments cut into me, but I was weak and hurt, my wounded leg a leaden weight behind me. I could barely crawl.

  Cooper threw himself into the storm of shards, covered me with his own body, and dragged me away.

  Away from the glass. Away from Talon’s awful screams.

  Time has a funny way of stretching when you least want it to, but it must have been only a few seconds before it got quiet again.

  I opened my eyes, lowered my arms, and saw Talon Wick, cut to ribbons on the floor.

  Number Twelve was gloating.

  The house’s deep satisfaction with what it had done to Talon, its almost joyful feeling of satiety, was all I could feel.

  It wasn’t done with me yet. It wouldn’t forget my promises. But for the moment, it was content. And proud.

  “I’m okay,” I breathed.

  I was still on the floor, in Cooper’s arms. His hands shook, not with weakness but with worry, as he gently brushed pieces of glass from my hair.

  “I’m okay,” I said again. “My arms got a little cut up, but my knee hurts way worse.”

  “The glass chased him,” said Arabella, her voice raw with shock and the tears she’d shed for her father. She stared at Talon’s ruined body.

  “Chased him?” I asked.

  So much for the destruction not being precise or selective.

  “He tried to roll away, he tried to cover his face. But it was relentless,” she said.

  I was right about the lack of mercy, though.