The Rising
( Darkness Rising - 3 )
Kelley Armstrong
The heart-stopping final book in the Darkness Rising trilogy, from New York Times-bestselling author Kelley Armstrong!
Things are getting desperate for Maya and her friends. Hunted by two powerful Cabals, they're quickly running out of places to hide. And with the whole world thinking they died in a helicopter crash, they can't simply go to the authorities for help. All they have is the name and number of someone who might be able to give them a few answers. Answers to why they're so valuable to the Cabals, and why their supernatural powers are getting more out of control. Maya is unprepared for the truths that await her, but she'll have to face them if she ever hopes to move on with her life. Because she can't keep running forever.
With all the twists, thrills, and romance that have made Kelley Armstrong an international bestseller—plus the surprising return of some favourite characters—The Rising will keep you under its spell long after the last page is turned.
The Rising
(The third book in the Darkness Rising series)
A novel by Kelley Armstrong
DEDICATION
For Julia
ONE
I WAS RUNNING THROUGH the forest. Running on all fours, huge tawny paws touching down so lightly they seemed to skim the ground. Yet somehow my pursuers were catching up. The pounding of their boots was so close I swore my tail switched against them as I ran.
I couldn’t keep this up. Cougars are sprinters, not distance runners. I had to get into the brush, up a tree, someplace, anyplace where I could hunker down, invisible, until they passed, and then—
A dart hit my shoulder. I reared back, snarling, clawing—
“Maya!”
Hands gripped my front legs. No, not legs. Arms. I saw hands wrapped around my wrists, a familiar face in front of mine—wavy blond hair in need of a brush, blue eyes underscored with dark circles, wide mouth tight with worry and exhaustion.
“Daniel . . . ?”
He released my wrists.
Corey’s voice sounded to my left. “Um, guys? Causing a bit of a scene here.”
I looked around to see strangers staring. A man in a button-down shirt was making his way over, gaze fixed on us. Behind him was a counter stacked with books. In front of me was a computer, while Corey was seated at another beside me.
A library. We were in a library.
The man walked over. “Is there a problem here?” He was looking at me and I wasn’t sure why, until he shot a glare at Daniel and I realized how it must have looked, him holding my wrists as I struggled.
“No,” I said. “We were just . . . goofing around.”
Not the right thing to say in a library. Even Corey—the king of goofing around—winced.
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said. “It won’t happen again.”
As he spoke, he held the librarian’s gaze and kept his voice low, calm. Using his powers of persuasion. With Daniel, it really is a power. I don’t think the librarian needed it, though. He seemed content to leave us be. But the incident had caught the attention of people around us and, under the circumstances, we really couldn’t afford to make ourselves memorable. So we left. Quickly.
“Well,” Corey said as we tramped down the front steps. “It’s not the first time we’ve had to leave a library. But it is the first time I wasn’t responsible.”
“I was having a vision,” I said. “I can’t control those.”
“Uh, no, Maya. Unless you snore during your visions, you were asleep.”
“I don’t snore.” I looked at Daniel. “Tell him I don’t snore.”
Daniel feigned great interest in the fountain. Corey didn’t ask how Daniel would know if I snored. Daniel and I had been best friends since kindergarten. Though our parents had decided sleepovers required separate rooms years ago, we’d spent the last few days sleeping side-by-side as we trekked through the wilds of Vancouver Island. Not a voluntary hiking trip, either. A helicopter crash had stranded us with Corey and three other friends. That helicopter had been supposedly rescuing us from a forest fire that threatened our town, but it’d actually been kidnapping us. Now, less than a week later, we were in the city of Vancouver, only the three of us left, the others captured by the people we were still fleeing.
“You were exhausted,” Daniel finally said. “Corey and I slept on the ferry. You didn’t. I would have let you keep sleeping . . . but the snoring was getting kinda loud.”
I aimed a kick at him. He grabbed my foot and held it, making me dance and curse. A passing security guard shot us a warning look.
“Holy hell,” Corey said. “It’s a sad day when I’m the responsible one. Speaking of responsibility, I’m going to take the reins of leadership and suggest food. It’s nearly eight. Maya, use that cat nose and lead us to dinner.”
Yes, my dream hadn’t been pure fantasy. I was a shape-shifter. I’d discovered my secret identity about a week ago. Not surprisingly, it marked the point where life went to hell—for all of us.
I wasn’t the only supernatural kid in our tiny town. In fact, Salmon Creek seemed to have been built as a petri dish to resurrect extinct supernatural types. Project Phoenix. I was a skin-walker, like Rafe and Annie, a brother and sister who’d come to Salmon Creek looking for answers. Daniel was a benandanti—a demon-hunter. As for Corey, we were pretty sure he had powers, too, but we didn’t know what they were yet.
And as for the people chasing us, it was two groups, actually. The St. Clouds—who’d founded our town and Project Phoenix—and the Nasts, a rival supernatural corporation that thought we seemed like valuable commodities. Our friends were now divided between the groups, and we were on the run, trying to find someone to help us get them back. We wanted something else back, too: our parents. They’d been told we’d died in that helicopter crash. I’d been trying very hard not to think about that, what they were going through. I just kept telling myself it would all be fixed soon. It had to be.
We ate dinner in a chain restaurant. It wasn’t one we knew, and we’d stood inside the door for five minutes, going over the menu, feeling like country mice in the city. That’s nothing new. We grew up in a town of two hundred people. Put us in a metropolis of two million, and it didn’t matter that we were private-school educated and wearing the same labels as every other kid—we still felt like hicks.
“This is what we need, guys,” Daniel said after we ordered. “A huge city where we can just blend in and lie low for a few days.”
“I know,” Corey said. “But I feel . . .” He looked around at the other tables and scowled. “It’s the St. Clouds’ fault. All those years of stranger-danger classes, teaching us that no one outside Salmon Creek can be trusted. They did that on purpose.”
“I know,” I murmured.
“Teaching us to be afraid of the outside world so we’d never leave, when the real danger wasn’t out here at all. It was right there. With everyone who was supposed to be looking out for us. Everyone we were taught to trust. Our teachers. Our doctors. Even some of our own parents might have been in on it. Hell, I’m not even sure my mom wasn’t . . .”
He trailed off. I didn’t rush to tell him I’m sure she hadn’t been a willing participant. We’d already been through this. There were no guarantees.
In Corey’s face, bitter and angry, I could find no trace of the guy I’d grown up with, the one who was always grinning, always up to something, never thinking any further ahead than the next party.
I cleared my throat. “So, what did you guys find out while I was sleeping on the job?”
We’d gone to the library to research a name that Rafe’s mother had given him to contact as a last resort. We had no idea if this guy could—or w
ould—help us, but it was our only shot.
“Cyril Mitchell is an unusual enough name. I narrowed it down to the most likely guy—the others were too young. I have a phone number, but that’s it.” Daniel unfolded two notes from his pocket. Scrap paper from the library. He ran his finger down his notes and let out a deep breath. If Corey looked bitter, Daniel looked defeated, and it was just as painful to see.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We call the number. We talk to whoever answers. That’s all we can do.”
One of the toughest parts about making that call was picking a pay phone. Not only are they rare these days, but we wanted one a fair distance from where we’d spend the night. Sure, the risk that someone was tapping this guy’s phone—or that he was working for the people chasing us—was slight. But right now we only trusted one another.
We caught the SkyTrain and found a pay phone. Then I prepared to call the man we hoped was the right Cyril Mitchell.
While Rafe had been captured the first time, he’d found information about another experiment: Project Genesis. The kids who’d been guinea pigs in that one had supposedly escaped, along with their parents. Rafe was sure Mitchell would know more. If we could find those subjects, maybe they could help us.
I pumped five dollars in coins into the pay phone and dialed.
When a woman answered, I asked to speak to Cyril Mitchell.
“Sorry, wrong number,” she said.
I read her back the number I’d dialed.
“That’s right, but there’s no one named Cyril here.”
Before she could hang up, I said, “I really need to get in touch with Mr. Mitchell and this is the only number I have.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
My mind whirred, trying to think of something else to say before she hung up. But she stayed on the line. As if she was waiting.
“Do you know any way to get in touch with Mr. Mitchell?” I asked finally.
“No.”
So why aren’t you hanging up?
If Mitchell knew about Project Genesis and Project Phoenix, both top-secret supernatural experiments, maybe he was on the run, too. Maybe this woman was waiting for something—a name, a code word.
But if he’s on the run, why would Daniel be able to find his number so easily?
Maybe it wasn’t the right Cyril Mitchell. Or maybe it was and she could tell I was young and I was scared, and didn’t want to hang up on me.
I took deep breaths and clenched the receiver.
This was our only lead. Our only lead. I couldn’t let it slip away.
“I’m going to leave a message,” I said. “Just in case.” I chose my words carefully. “My name is Maya Delaney. I’m a Phoenix from Salmon Creek, British Columbia.”
I paused. It took at least three seconds for her to say, “I’m sorry, but you really do have the wrong number.” Which told me she’d been listening, maybe even writing it down.
“Just take the message. Please. Maya Delaney. Phoenix. Salmon Creek. He can contact me at . . .” I read off the email account Corey had set up at the library. “Do you need me to repeat any of that?”
A long pause. Then, “He can’t help you, Maya.”
My heart thudded. This was Mitchell’s number. “Can I speak to him? Please?”
“Not without a—” She stopped herself. “He died six months ago. I’m his daughter.”
I took a deep breath. Tried not to panic. “Okay. Can you help? Or can you give us the name of someone who can? Please?”
“No.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”
She hung up.
TWO
WE SPENT AN HOUR trying to call back. We even used different pay phones. She wasn’t answering and she’d turned off the voice mail.
We took refuge in a half-constructed condo building. There were plenty of them around. Vancouver had been booming a few years ago, insanely priced condos popping up everywhere, eyes fixed on the Olympics. Then the economic crisis hit and developers fled.
We hadn’t said much since our last attempt to call Mitchell’s daughter. There was nothing to say except “What now?” and no one dared ask that. When the silence got too heavy, I snuck off to the highest level with a solid floor—seven floors up. I perched on the edge, letting my legs hang over as I stared toward the distant ocean. Toward my island.
I ran my fingers over the worn leather bracelet on my wrist, over the cat’s eye stone. Rafe’s bracelet, the one he’d given me.
A few minutes later I heard footsteps. Daniel.
He didn’t come over and I didn’t turn, in case he was just checking on me. I heard him settle behind me. Then silence, broken only by the soft sound of his breathing.
“You going to stay back there?”
His sneakers scuffed the floor as he rose. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
I held my hand up behind me, and his fingers closed around mine. I clasped his hand, feeling the heat of it chase away the October chill. He sat beside me, his legs dangling, too.
“We need to find these other subjects,” I said. “Project Genesis.”
“I know, but . . . At the library, I searched on all kinds of words from those pages Rafe gave us. There’s nothing. It’s a dead end.”
Silence thudded down again. I stared out at the city and tried to rouse myself. We had to move. We had to do something. The thoughts would skitter through my brain, only to be swallowed by a yawning black pit. Move where? Do what? Our only lead was gone and I felt lost. Too beat down to even look up for a spot of light.
“I think we should go to Skidegate and try to contact your grandma,” Daniel said.
I looked at him. I wanted to shout for joy and throw my arms around his neck and thank him for giving me exactly what I wanted—contact with my family. But I only had to look at him, his eyes anxious, his face drawn, holding himself still as he awaited my response, and I knew this wasn’t about choosing the right path. It was about making me happy. Or making one of us happy. Lifting the dark cloud for one so we could all breathe a little easier. He knew I wanted this more than anything. So he was giving it to me, caution be damned.
“I . . . don’t think that would be safe,” I said slowly.
“We could make it safe. We’d go over to the Queen Charlotte Islands and make contact with one of her friends, ask them to take her a note. She’s a smart lady. If she knows what’s going on, she’ll find a way to meet us without being followed.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I’ve gone over all the options. There’s my brothers, but they’re too far away and I’m not sure how much help they’d be.” His two older brothers were at university in Toronto and Montreal—clear across the country. “Corey’s grandparents are in Alberta, but he said they wouldn’t understand—they’d call his mom right away.”
We couldn’t let that happen—if our parents found out we were alive—and we weren’t there to warn them—they’d confront the Cabals, not knowing how dangerous they were.
Daniel continued, “I’ve never met Corey’s grandparents, anyway. I’ve met your grandma. So has Corey. He’s good with it.”
I looked out over the city.
“It’s not like we have a lot of choice, Maya,” Daniel murmured. “Either we sit here waiting for divine intervention or we take a risk.”
“It’s not a short trip,” I said. “We’d need to take the train to Prince Rupert and the ferry over. We wouldn’t have much money left.”
“We wouldn’t need it once we made contact. Before we get on that train, we need to make sure she’s there. Call again tomorrow and see if she answers—don’t say anything, just confirm she’s home. I don’t know if she would be—she thinks you’re dead, and the funerals . . .”
He trailed off. By now our parents might have buried us. Buried empty caskets, our remains lost at sea. We tried not to think about that, and sat there for a little longer, staring into the night.
“I know you’re worried about Rafe,” Daniel
said at last. “You haven’t said anything, but you must be.”
I nodded. “He double-crossed the St. Clouds to protect us. I’m afraid they’ll punish him. Not just him, though; I’m worried about everyone. Sam, Hayley, Kenjii, Nicole.”
Did he notice I said my dog’s name before Nicole’s? I hadn’t meant to, but the truth was that I wasn’t at all worried about Nicole. She’d killed my best friend because Serena was dating Daniel. He didn’t know that. Worse, at the time of Serena’s death, he’d been ready to break up with her and if he’d just done it a little sooner, she’d still be alive. I hadn’t told him because I didn’t want to put that kind of burden on him. So I had to pretend I was still concerned about Nicole, too.
“It’s not just worry,” I said. “I feel responsible. Like they’re waiting for us to rescue them and we have no idea how to do that.”
He put his arm around my waist and pulled me, so I could lean against him. “We’ll do our best.”
I closed my eyes and tried to block the mechanical roar of the city and imagine my forest instead, the sigh of wind through redwoods, the buzz of thrush and the whistle of marmots, the soft drip of rain. It took awhile, but soon I was able to hear them, and when I did, exhaustion took over and I drifted off to sleep.
There was still no answer at my grandmother’s place. She volunteered at the heritage center, most recently in project management. She was Haida, like my mom. Mom wasn’t really active in the Native community, but Grandma was. I help her out with festivals and such, but I always feel a little out of place. I’m adopted and I am Native, but Navajo, not Haida. I don’t know much about that part of my heritage, except that it doesn’t usually come with the ability to shape-shift into a wildcat. I’m just special. Unfortunately.
There was a really good chance, then, that I knew the woman who answered the phone at the heritage center, but not well enough to recognize her voice. And, thankfully, she didn’t recognize mine.
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