Night Awakens: The Awakened Magic Saga (Soul Forge Book 1)

by Leslie Claire Walker

  She cocked her head. “Are we still friends?”

  We’d shared every intimacy when we’d worked together. Now—if she told the truth—we shared a different kind of mortal danger. We’d been hunters, and now we were the hunted. And Sunday had embraced the monster inside of her. I felt cold all over.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  Heat filled her voice, rising with every syllable. “There’s something magical rising in this town, something big and bad. I came to learn about it. To understand it. I came to fight it. I came to kill it.”

  I stared at her.

  “I know you want in,” she said. “We never got the chance to go up against a target like this one. It’s the ultimate.”

  The ultimate? Whatever that meant. “No, thanks.”

  “The old you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.”

  “I’m not her anymore.”

  My words seemed to sink in. She studied my face. “Just listen, then. Even if you won’t fight with me, you should know what’s here.”

  Faith and I wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter, but knowledge was always power. “Tell me.”

  “There’s a Horseman of the Apocalypse in town,” she said.

  I blinked at her. “A what?”

  “A Horseman. Like from Revelation.”

  I knew the Bible. My parents had been very religious. In fact, their religion had nearly killed me.

  My magical knowledge base extended mostly to methods of intelligence gathering, concealment, killing, and escape. I’d come across other types of magic in my education and travels, but not as much about what Sunday suggested—that the Horsemen weren’t fictional, and they weren’t far-future creatures, but real in the here and now. “The apocalypse?”

  Sunday nodded.

  “The apocalypse.”

  She nodded again.

  The actual end of the world. Not the ramblings of cult leaders who promised their followers deliverance but ended up delivering only death. Not the fervor of those who prayed for the end times in hopes of salvation, damn the torpedoes and damn the rest of humanity so long as their asses—excuse me, souls—were saved. The actual end, breathing down our necks.

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  “The signs started about a year ago. At first, I thought my imagination had gone wild, lacing together clues from unrelated occurrences. But then six months ago, a city went dark. A big city.”

  “Which one?” I asked.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t notice,” she said. “Houston.”

  Not just a big city, but the fourth largest in the country. How could I have missed that, even busy trying to stay alive and under the radar? Because I avoided everything about the place. I couldn’t remember the last thing—the worst thing—that had happened to me there. The very thought of trying brought on a razor-sharp terror that started at the base of my spine and clawed its way up into my heart.

  “The city going dark—the magic that caused it—was it shielded?” I asked. “Someone wanted to keep outsiders from noticing?”

  If it had been, then only someone with the magical ability to see it would’ve caught on. Everyone else would’ve skipped right over it for a few days as if a city that big disappearing from the proverbial radar was perfectly normal, not worth remarking on or even having a suspicious feeling about. And once the city came back online, they’d forget that for a time it might as well have not existed.

  “Yeah, it was shielded,” Sunday said. “The magic that shielded it was ancient, older than anything I’ve ever experienced. I got lucky, noticing.”

  There was no such thing as luck. With Sunday, it was talent, plain and simple. And she’d followed the signs here, to a Horseman.

  “Which Horseman’s in town?” I asked.

  Her eyes twinkled. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure that it’s Death.”

  La Muerte? “Jesus,” I said, as much in reaction to Sunday’s excitement as to the identity of the big bad.

  “It’s like fate,” she said. “Or destiny. What we are—it’s like we’re related to him. We’re his children.”

  I shook my head. “What you are, maybe. I told you, I’m not who I used to be anymore.”

  “It’s impossible to wash that much blood off your hands, Night.”

  “At least I’m trying.”

  “You let me know how that works out,” she said.

  I had no intention of letting her catch up with me again. “Any idea what Death looks like so I’ll know if I run into him?”

  “He could look like anyone at all. Anyone.”

  “Great,” I said.

  “Your sarcasm is appreciated. You have no idea how much I’ve missed it.” She crossed her heart with her index finger for emphasis. “He’s Death, Night. He could be an old lady or a teenage boy for all I know—anyone who’s been touched by death closely.”

  “So, what kind of magic are we talking about here? Shapeshifting? Possession?”

  She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Technically, yes,” I said. “If he’s shapeshifting, then he’s contained in his own body and can look like anyone he wants to. If he’s possessing people, then he’s a free agent, so to speak, and the people he’s possessing could end up messed up at best and dead at worst. It matters because given all that, if you’re looking to take him out, how will you even know it’s him? And are you gonna be taking out an innocent person while you’re at it?”

  “The old you wouldn’t have cared.”

  “Like I keep telling you.”

  She sighed. “I’m not sure one innocent life outweighs a dead Horseman of the Apocalypse.”

  “I’m sure the innocent and their family and friends would beg to differ.”

  “If you’re so concerned,” Sunday said, “then come with me. I wasn’t kidding, Night. I need you on this.”

  I dodged the invitation. I’d said no once, and I wouldn’t say it again. What I wanted now was more information, whatever Sunday could give me that would help Faith and me survive. “Can something that old and strong even be killed?”

  “I don’t know, but I have to try. Night, he’s Death. Is there anyone else I could take out that would even come close? If anyone could do it, it’s me.”

  I agreed. Sunday killed better than anyone I’d ever seen. I’d been good at it, but Sunday was out of my league. She had courage—and bravado—that captivated as much as the rest of her, an I-don’t-care-whether-I-die attitude that drew me like a moth to the flame. I hadn’t cared either, once upon a time. We’d been kindred spirits. Soulmates.

  She’d killed a lot of people. It didn’t matter whether the people she’d killed considered themselves evil or good. It only mattered that they were dead.

  I knew that better than anyone else. Sunday could lecture me about the blood on my own hands all she wanted; I knew it would drip from my fingertips until the day I died and probably flood my grave. If there was a hell separate from the ones we created for ourselves and each other in this world, I’d be sent straight there, do not pass GO. It was where I belonged.

  A fucking Horseman of the Apocalypse.

  I knew from my time in the Order that there had been other apocalyptic close calls—the world had almost ended half a dozen times according to the Order’s records. But none of those times had involved a Horseman.

  If the end of the world was really nigh this time, taking Faith and running again might not work. If something happened to her, I’d never forgive myself. If something happened to me, what would happen to Faith?

  “How do you intend to find Death?” I asked.

  “You don’t want to help me, I don’t need to tell you.” She dropped her gaze from my face to the scoop neck of my T-shirt, where the pendant she’d given me hung on its delicate silver chain. “You still have it.”

  The silver hourglass, a symbol of what I’d been and what I’d become. I had been death itself, and I had died to that life. Now, I had a second chance that
I’d sworn never to waste. A new beginning. “I’ve never taken it off.”

  She met my gaze. “Even if you won’t help me, do you really want me to stay away?”

  I looked into her eyes, and at her mouth. I dreamed about the shape of her mouth sometimes, the way it celebrated all her moods. Part of me wanted to kiss her and taste the fire of the life inside her and the espresso I knew she’d have sipped on waking. Part of me wanted to drown in her, for things to be like they’d been before.

  “It’s probably better if you do,” I said.

  “C’mon, Night. Reconsider.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said with more determination than I felt.

  “I hear so much as a whisper about any of the Order in town,” she said, “you’ll be the first to know. Same if things get out of hand with the Horseman of Death.”

  “Thanks,” I said again.

  Faith and I would have to start the motions of getting the hell out of Dodge and be gone by day after tomorrow, tops. If I could get us gone by tomorrow morning, that wouldn’t be soon enough for me. But my girl wasn’t ten anymore. She didn’t do what I told her just because I said so. She would need a reason. I didn’t want to have to tell her that I’d somehow screwed up and our cover was blown here.

  “Thanks for not killing me,” Sunday said.

  My lips twitched into a half-smile. “You, too.”

  She took a hesitant step toward me, then crossed the distance in a couple of quick strides. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. Her body felt familiar, like second skin. Her strength, the amber scent in her hair, the brush of her breasts against mine. She pulled back just enough to plant a kiss on my forehead, and then one full on my lips, soft and mesmerizing.

  I tasted the espresso and felt the line of the scar that ran across her bottom lip, the one that lipstick camouflaged so well. My heartbeat quickened. My arms wanted to move of their own accord, to draw her closer. I did not.

  She pulled away, a question in her eyes that she asked a moment later. “Did you meet someone else? New woman? New man?”

  I shook my head. “No time for love.”

  How could I find anything real when I had to hide my past? When I had to hide my real name? Like Faith, I’d taken a new one—Night, because I’d gone dark, inside and out. Whoever I’d been before my parents had given me to the Order, whoever I’d become under the life-or-death training the Order had given me—that girl, that woman, were dead and buried.

  I’d never be able to stop running.

  Sunday studied my face. Whatever she read there, she kept to herself. “Take care, Night. I’m glad you’re safe,” she said.

  She turned away and walked out of the gym, the electronic chime announcing her departure. My heart thumped hard in my chest as she turned left into the neighborhood, disappearing from view, as the last traces of her perfume faded.

  I breathed deep, making my exhales longer than my inhales, slowing my heart and recalibrating my nervous system until I felt absolutely calm, until I could think more clearly. Sunday hadn’t used her magic on me, but I still felt as if I’d been run over by a forest fire.

  Ten minutes until I had charge of half-awake kids here to learn how strong they could be.

  Faith should’ve shown by now. We should’ve already been through the show. Her apologizing, me telling her what she could or couldn’t do, her throwing back in my face that I wasn’t her mother and couldn’t order her around. She’d had a mother, and just because the woman had died bloody and I’d taken Faith in didn’t mean I owned her. I’d heard the speech a hundred times.

  Thank God Faith hadn’t walked in while Sunday was here. On the heels of that thought, another.

  Armageddon: coming to my backyard. As much as I couldn’t take a word Sunday said as gospel, who would lie about something like that?

  I stared at the door, wondering who would walk in next. The Order? The Horseman of Death?

  I didn’t trust Sunday as far as I could throw her.

  And where in the name of everything holy was Faith?

  Chapter 2

  I TRIED TO FOCUS on the here and now: The aroma of rubber and sweat. The damp chill in the air that made my skin break out in gooseflesh. The squeak of sneakers on the floor mats and the words that rolled out of the kids’ mouths that sounded to me less like words and more like distorted underwater mutterings.

  With the addition of Sunday Sloan in town, the possible arrival of the Order hot on her heels, and the imminent appearance of the Horseman of Death, we’d gone far beyond whatever anxiety Faith’s sneaking out in the middle of the night accounted for. The situation called for Battle Stations. Every moment that passed without Faith walking through the door ratcheted my nerves a notch tighter.

  I stood near the climbing ropes, one of which currently swung under the weight of Corey Ross. Her mother thought Corey was weak and insisted that she come here three times every week to learn how to be strong. Corey was seventeen and technically old enough to tell her parents to go screw if she wanted, but in this case, she hadn’t. The gym offered stability. Camaraderie. Respect. Judging from what I knew and the few offhand remarks she made about her home life, she received none of those things there.

  On the other side of the rope, Jess Johnson looked up, watching Corey’s progress. Jess stood on the tips of her sneakers, adding a temporary six inches to her five feet before she lost her balance and landed flat on her soles. Her dark eyes flashed, as did the gold hoops in her ears. She’d twisted her dark, kinky curls into a loose bun on top of her head. They bounced as she moved. Her halo reminded me of a dark night out in the middle of nowhere, some place without light pollution, where the Milky Way could be seen in all its starry glory.

  I’d never seen a halo like it before. It was a mystery to me, something I’d mulled over since I’d met her. Like the rest of Faith’s friends, Jess had magic. Nothing dangerous that I could see. But this mystery, which had seemed like no big deal last night, only poured fuel on the fire. There were too many things going wrong. Too many coincidences.

  I didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Jess’s best friend, Ben Patterson, sixteen going on forty, stepped into my line of sight. He had wary brown eyes hidden behind a curtain of longish brown hair and even longer bangs. Most times, I saw only his thin nose and his nervous grin, the soul patch under his mouth carefully groomed. And his halo, which had all the gray color and steadfastness of a stone wall. Ben was a shield. I didn’t know whether his talent only applied to him, or whether he could shield other people. Chances were good, but given his age, I’d bet he’d need to be in close proximity to them. In any normal crowd, he’d be the guy stepping between the bullied and their tormentors. He’d be the rescuer. The one everybody could count on.

  He always surprised me when he opened his mouth, though I should’ve been used to his unusually deep voice by now.

  “Who are you waiting for?” he asked.

  “What makes you think I’m waiting for anyone?”

  “You keep checking the door.”

  I sighed.

  “Faith?” he asked.

  I met his gaze. “You know where she’s been?”

  “My house,” he said matter-of-factly. “But you figured that out already. It’s not what you think.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “You’re thinking sex.”

  What a strange thing for a boy his age to say to a woman with ten years on him, a woman in authority. And without blushing. Not even a little bit.

  “It was totally not sex,” he said. “We were actually studying.”

  At that moment, Corey shimmied down the rope, dropping to the mat underneath, between Ben and me. She grinned ear-to-ear, her heart-shaped face flushed, her forehead sheened with perspiration. The thick strands of her fire-engine red bob wilted near her face, damp from perspiration. She wore two tank tops, white on the bottom and black on the top, and long, black leggings. Most striking was her black-and-white s
kull cameo collection, currently occupying space on her earlobes, around her neck, and around half the fingers on each hand. Her halo shone as white as bone, and her favoring skulls made all kinds of sense. She could speak with the dead, after all. Ghosts, specifically.

  “Awesome,” she said.

  “Yeah, you are.” I raised my hand.

  She high-fived me, then headed for the bathroom, where she’d left her change of clothes. Gym rags were fine here, but damned if she be caught dead in them at school.

  The door chime rang. I glanced toward the front as Faith rounded the corner, half-walking, half-running across the floor, dripping water from the hem of her purple slicker, footprints puddling in her wake. The rain and caused her dark hair to curl at the ends. Her skin, normally a light, creamy brown, looked several shades paler than it ought. The halo surrounding her body had lost all of its shimmering silver depth. Now it burned orange and red with fury.

  I didn’t care about the anger. I cared that she was safe and that she was here.

  “Hey,” she said, cocking her head toward the empty back corner.

  I glanced at Ben. “Y’all take a few minutes while I talk to Faith.”

  “No climbing until you’re back,” he said. “Check.”

  I followed Faith’s wet trail to the corner into the wall of sound flowing from the speakers. I reached to turn the volume down, but stopped short when she shook her head.

  She unzipped her slicker with a shower of droplets and pushed back the hood. She’d thrown on a powder blue T-shirt and a charcoal-colored sweater over top of it. A tiny silver black widow spider pendant hung at the hollow of her throat. She’d tucked her faded jeans into knee-high, black riding boots. Sometime during the night, she’d painted her fingernails black, too, and borrowed someone’s black lipstick. Since Ben didn’t wear that stuff, I figured she borrowed it from Corey, who did. Had Corey been at Ben’s as well?

  Faith closed the short distance between us and spoke low in my ear, her voice shaking. “Did you send someone to check on me this morning?”