The Traitor's Crux (The Dark Powers Book 1)

by Jessica Prather

  I turn on him, not sure how to even react to that. All I can muster is, “What?”

  “Give me this moment,” his voice pleads, and I lose every ounce of fight within me. “Give us this moment before you just walk away. We’ll be the ones, who determine whether or not this was all for nothing. Let us decide, Ken. No one else.”

  I kiss him, with all the meaning in the world. He’s everything all wrapped into one: the morning sky bathed in a million different colors, the blank pages of an unwritten story, the stilled sea after a raging storm. His hands in my hair, the fire within my blood. He’s something untouchable, a treasure not meant for me.

  He’s not mine to keep. He’s mine to kill.

  And yet.

  The word sinks itself into my bones, leaving me breathless.

  Yet. Yet. Yet…

  20 “YOU REALIZE THAT STARING AT a closed grimoire won’t actually help you memorize it? Trust me, back in my magic-learning days, I tried.” Bryce scoots out a chair, making it squeal against the concrete, and sits down, sliding my coffee towards me.

  “Oh, just give me my coffee, would you?” I pretend glare, shoving the grimoire out of the way.

  “Sheesh, someone’s not a morning person. I was merely pointing out that my younger, more unmotivated and angst-filled self would have found a way to get out of studying magic. I was not a go-getter,” Bryce teases, checking the time. “When do you have to be at training again?”

  “Six, on the dot. Any later and Harlow finds a new way to torture me. It’s like a game of see how Kenadee will humiliate herself next.”

  He frowns, emptying a sugar packet into his coffee, then pressing the lid back down. “I thought practices were going better.”

  “They’re getting there…” I take a sip, wincing as the hot drink scalds my tongue and thinking of the last training session I had with Harlow. Sure, my magic is doing great. After a bunch of practice with the grimoires and finding what works, I’ve managed to pick up the hat and so much more. Harlow’s been challenging me with plenty of new spells, making them harder and harder each time. I can feel myself getting stronger each day—but that’s not the problem.

  The real trouble lies in what Harlow knows. I’ll be expected to make a choice, to choose a side. I want to trust her. I want to tell her everything. I want to be at hers and Bryce’s side as they defeat Reed, but he has the one thing that’s holding me back: my family.

  I can’t let them die because of me.

  Reed hasn’t mentioned anything yet, but I also worry about this other spy. Whoever is in the camp with me knows who I am. They’ve been to my house, they’ve openly attacked within camp walls. I can’t associate with Harlow, make plans to screw over Reed, without the possibility of them finding out.

  Then there’s the other problem. The biggest problem: Bryce Coughlin. I can’t let it go on, but I also can’t bear the thought of stopping it. Sure, it started with me just trying to get information, but it quickly turned into something else. Bryce is the one thing I can’t seem to let go of, no matter how hard I try.

  He looks at the time once more then pushes out his chair, “Dang it, I’m late. I gotta go—I have a pre-meeting meeting with the security team.” He clutches his coffee with one hand and leans in to kiss my forehead. My heart skips a beat as he pulls away. “How about I cook you dinner tonight?”

  “I can’t. I’m babysitting for Nadine and Jay. You know, because they’re going to your post-meeting meeting.” I stand too, reaching for my backpack. It’s nearly training time and I don’t want to be late.

  He pretends to pout, pulling me in close. “Well it shouldn’t be too late. You could come over after.”

  “I have another test tomorrow,” I fib, “I have to study.”

  I don’t want to say that I have to be home to catch the phone call with Reed.

  “Fine,” he huffs, “Then tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow night,” I affirm, “It’s a date.”

  He kisses me once more before pulling away, biting his lower lip to hide the smile. I grin back until he turns away and the guilt takes over.

  ***

  TODAY, I’M GOING TO LIE to Harlow Creston’s face.

  I say it again and again in my mind as I enter the training room, but I still can’t believe it. It’s stupider than screwing over Reed! Harlow, who could kill me in an instant and would probably do so happily.

  Am I really going to do this? Am I really this stupid?

  The door to the training room is propped open when I arrive, and I can see Harlow’s back as she flips through a book. She looks up as I enter, coffee in hand, and slams the book closed with the signature presumptuousness I’ve yet to see Harlow lack. “Finally, you’re here. Glad I didn’t disrupt your little coffee date, but I told you to be on time or not come at all, remember? Since you like to waste my time, how about I waste yours? I’m adding twenty more pushups, two rounds for every ten minutes you missed. Go.”

  Expecting a larger punishment than added push-ups, I don’t argue. I finish the set and crawl to my knees, a heap of sweat and labored breathing, without her noticing.

  Taking a large swig from my water bottle, I watch her magic emit bright silvery sparks as two bright red chairs fly down from the ceiling and land neatly on the ground. She dusts off the imaginary dirt, pleased, and spins around to face me. “Alright, we’re doing some mental stuff today. It’s a bit harder than what you’re used to, but I think you’re ready.”

  “Great,” I say, trying to sound optimistic though my stomach feels like a rock. I toss the water bottle onto the top of my bag and take the seat opposite of her. We face each other, so close our knees nearly touch. I smile, channeling my inner Tess. I have a show to perform.

  “First, and most importantly, I need you to wipe that stupid grin off your face,” Harlow says, rolling her eyes. I glower, but obey, sitting up neatly and mimicking her solemn expression. “Today, we’re going to explore the mind.”

  “What’s that even mean?” I ask, wrinkling my brow. My head spins anxiously. If she reads my thoughts, then she can know exactly what I’ve been up to with Reed.

  “It means that you’re going to enter my thoughts. This is a really good spell to use if you need to do mind control. It should only be used in an emergency, but it’s highly useful. You can use it on anyone to manipulate their thoughts, see their memories, and more. Plus, they won’t even realize that you were in there. You can erase any trace of it.”

  “Is this even legal?”

  She gives me a wry look, “If you use it around camp, obviously not. But Reed’s army is growing. They know spells that would give you nightmares for the rest of your life. If we have to fight back, we have to fight dirty.”

  “Why are you teaching me this?” I shake my head, “I thought you didn’t trust me?”

  Her wolfish gaze assesses me. “Because I trust that you’ll do the right thing. If not, I’ll kill you myself. You’re caught, whether you like it or not. The fact that you’re here tells me that you don’t want Reed to win either. Now, are we done playing twenty questions? Can we begin?”

  Panic makes my palms sweaty and I nod, trying to focus.

  “Alright. I want you to enter mine first. That way you can get practice. Don’t worry, I did a protective spell so you can’t mess up my brain,” she says, catching my worried expression. “All you need to do is concentrate, to think of me. Be me to get inside my mind and see my memories. I won’t teach you the control part for obvious reasons. Easy enough?”

  “What do I say?” I ask, biting my lip.

  “Nothing. This is a silent spell. A physical one. Not even the grimoires have substitutes that you can use. You have to want it, you have to go for it. That’s all.”

  I nod, taking in her words with a giant gulp.

  I close my eyes, willing myself to focus. Taking a deep breath, I think of Harlow. I’ve got to get into her head. I have to be her.

  Get inside her mind. That’s all you have to do.
>
  Harboring the energy inside me, I clench my eyes tighter and mentally throw myself forward.

  It’s like a tunnel, some sort of cloudy-like vision. Is this what it’s like to be in someone’s head? I’m speeding through, a mere spectator viewing this strange new thing. I can see the world spinning, but it’s like I’m going too fast. Memories. You have to get her memories. Something begins to appear before me, a scene, but it’s blurry. I can’t see a thing. It’s too–

  Without a warning, everything goes black. I feel myself getting slammed back into my chair, my head pounding. I look up at Harlow, who just snickers, leaning back in her chair casually, like it was the easiest thing in the world to throw me from her head.

  “Ow! That hurt!” I say, rubbing my head.

  “Whatever,” she sneers, “Do it again. You did alright for your first time, but you have to mean it.” She leans back even farther, eyebrow raised, mocking me.

  Okay, focus. You can do this. Get in her brain, that’s all you have to do.

  I feel myself break through her barriers once again, floating in that limbo-liked vastness of the in-between stage. I’m halfway through the spell, I just have to get to her memories. I feel my body tense up, focused on the outcome.

  Get to her memories.

  I feel something, some sort of power as it rushes forward, grabbing onto something. It must be Harlow. It has to be. A glimpse of something flashes by too fast to see. I can’t latch on…With a rush, and a huge amount of force, I’m sent backwards.

  “Ow!” I curse, glaring at Harlow, who laughs from her seat.

  “Not so easy, is it? You can’t let people kick you out like that. You need to try harder to get inside or you’re not gonna get anywhere at all. Try again, and this time, mean it. You want inside my head, don’t you? Try harder, think harder. Be a better me than me.”

  I sigh, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

  Do not let the frustration get to you. You have this. You were in. Do better. Harlow. Be Harlow.

  Images of her flow through my brain, the halo of blonde hair and blue eyes, the scars barely visible on her cheeks, the faded New York accent, sometimes appearing in her vowels…

  With a final big effort, I push my powers forward, thinking of getting inside Harlow’s mind. Do this, do it. I know you can! With a burst, a sudden white light, I find myself lost in her mind.

  The white is gone. Instead, a scene is in front of me. I’m in her memories, finally.

  Suddenly, my—no, her—world begins to slow, fading out, then in.

  I’m Harlow, but a much younger, noticeably less grouchy, version. She can’t be more than four or five. The house around us is cramped and cluttered with dim lighting. Beside us is a baby, barely old enough to walk, a bright red crayon clutched in its hands. Harlow has siblings?

  I watch as younger Harlow hums cheerfully, her feet sprawled in front of her, and not a single worry in the world.

  Inside her mind, I can feel the real-life Harlow tense up, nervous as someone in her memory comes around the corner.

  “Harlow, knock it off! I can’t stand that sound!” A woman stands in the kitchen, a cigarette nestled between her fingers, which are clutched around a bottle of beer. Even from far away, I can see how much she resembles Harlow. She has the same pale colored hair, the same small frame.

  “Mommy, look! It’s for you!” Mini Harlow picks herself up, running to her mom, picture in tow.

  Her mom doesn’t turn around, rolling her eyes as Harlow pulls at her leg for attention, “Get out of my face, Harlie!” the woman yells, her anger boiling over. “God, I’m sick of tripping over you stupid kids. Always needin’ this and that. Can’t ya leave me alone for one goddamn second?”

  The door opens, surprising them both.

  “Daddy!” cries Mini-Harlow, running to him. He looks nothing like her except for the pale eyes. I can feel goosebumps form on my skin as he gives her a cold once-over, then shoves past her roughly.

  Harlow’s mother smothers her cigarette and puts the beer on the counter as if trying to hide it, her back rigid with fear. He’s tall, towering over her as he leans forward, grabbing her.

  “Is that one of mine?” the man growls. It’s barely distinguishable from where Harlow sits.

  Suddenly, I fear for this woman. I can still feel the real-life Harlow across from me, her sadness, fear and rage clouding her memories.

  “Are you stupid? What did I just ask you?” the man demands, his voice threatening, ready to explode.

  Her syllables are sloppier than Harlow’s faint New York accent. “I’m sorry, honey.” She gives him a shaky smile, “I had a stressful day, that’s all. Those damn kids make me want to rip my hair out. Lo-look, I’m makin’ steak just for you! I-I sold lots today and thought I’d make it up to you for makin’ you so mad yesterday.”

  He grunts, clearly satisfied at the promise of steak. “Just don’t drink any more of my stuff, got it? What’s mine is mine. You know how I feel ‘bout sharin’.”

  The picture around me blurs slowly, fading from that memory in the living room. It reappears, transforming before my eyes. Now I’m in an older Harlow’s memories, probably twelve or thirteen-years-old.

  Her friends talk loudly as their shoes clunk against the pavement. I don’t think she’s listening though. I can feel the dread inside. She doesn’t want to go home.

  She parts with a wave goodbye as they come upon a brick brownstone, pausing with her fingers on the door before heading inside.

  “Harlie!” The shrill voice rings through the house. Her mother’s in the kitchen again, this time rocking a new baby on her hip. It wails loudly.

  “Hey, ma—” Harlow’s voice is much higher, younger.

  “Be of good use, will ya, and take this thing away from me? I’m sick of it.” Her mom comes forward, shoving the baby towards Harlow, who takes it and starts bouncing it on her hip.

  “She’s hungry. Did you feed her today?” Harlow asks, a bit of familiar annoyance creeping in her voice. Her mother’s already around the corner, not listening. “Ma?”

  She follows her mother’s lead, the baby now quiet on her hip as it clings to her shirt. It’s used to Harlow. It’s clear that she’s more of a mother than their actual mom is.

  She comes around the corner to her mom on the bed, which is piled with dirty clothes and beer bottles.

  “What do you want now?” her mom screeches, trying to hide a packet of something behind her back, “Go feed the kids!”

  Harlow obeys. I can feel the disappointment she has, her feelings as I see her past. The embarrassment, fear… the sadness. She grabs a pan in the sink, buzzing with flies. Once it’s washed, she gathers up some bread, slabbing on some butter and cheese and making two grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “Harlow!” A boy comes running up, only a few years younger than her. The baby from the first memory. He grabs her waist, and she hugs him just as tightly.

  “Hey, buddy,” She says softly. It’s strange hearing her this way. Gentle is not the word I’d use to describe Harlow, but here, it’s like she’s a different person. “Whoa, what happened?” Her brother’s face is bloody and bruised. She examines it, worried.

  “Um, some kids at school,” the boy mutters sheepishly, “It’s nothing.”

  “Yes, it is! Did you show ma?”

  He nods, “She told me she was too busy to look.”

  She examines the gash on his forehead, the most worrisome of his cuts. It’s deep enough to be dangerous if not taken care of. He needs stitches.

  She sighs, looking around her nervously. “Okay, don’t tell anybody about this. Got it? I’ll be in big trouble.” She kneels, eye-level with his forehead. “Sano,” she says softly. She’s confident. She’s done this before.

  His forehead immediately begins to patch itself back up, healing the bend in the nose and the fat lip. The bruise around his eye fades, all new. The magic makes everything all better. Like nothing ever happened. He smiles up at her,
clearly excited.

  “What the hell was that?!” Harlow hadn’t seen her father come around the corner. She didn’t even know he was home. Now, he stares at her with his bloodshot eyes, nostrils flaring.

  She cowers naturally as he comes forward, preparing to take the hit.

  “You’re one of them!” he bellows, grabbing her arm and sending her flying backwards against the wall. The baby, still on Harlow’s hip, begins to wail from the fall. Harlow grabs him instinctively, holding him as he cries, protecting him from the wrath of her father.

  “Call the cops!” her father yells to no one in particular, “And get the damned kids away from her!”

  My world fades once again as the memory heads away, flashing into a new one. Harlow’s legs are strapped down; she’s laying on some table. She instinctively tries to fight, but can barely move. She’s trapped.

  “Don’t fight it, Miss Creston. It’ll only make it worse.” A voice seeps into the room from an intercom placed above her. Several cameras are placed around the room, taking in every move, everything that Harlow does.

  “Please, don’t do this!” she wails, her fists clenches as she struggles pointlessly against the bonds. This isn’t the cool, collected Harlow that I know. This is someone completely different, scared, alone.

  She’s ignored by the intercom, instead, the door buzzes open as a team of bodyguards swarm in, surrounding the president himself. Although a younger version, Reed looks almost exactly the same.

  Even in memory form, the sight of Reed sends chills down my spine.

  “Hello, Miss Creston, I’m sure you know who I am. President Malen couldn’t be here today, so I thought I’d welcome you personally to the Center for Magic Control.”

  “What’re you going to do with me?” she cries, fear dripping from her voice. The president only laughs.

  “Why, my dear, don’t worry. We aren’t about to kill you, if that’s what you were wondering. You are very useful to our cause, Miss Creston. I can promise you that if you join us, you will be honored as a hero. We will be powerful, have the world at our fingertips. We can rule, but we need your help. We need your magic,” he says simply.