Dark Rising Trilogy

by DeAnna Browne

  Paula sat across from her on the bed, watching her drink the tea.

  The sweet taste of honey overwhelmed the flavor, and Elizabeth savored the warmth down her throat. Maybe she could just talk to Jeremiah, convince him to wait until she met her fiancé. She took another drink then set the cup down and closed her eyes. The room spun slightly. She pressed a finger to the bridge of her nose, fighting off what felt like a migraine.

  “Paula, do you think we could do this later?” Elizabeth asked. “I’m not feeling that great.”

  “Of course not. The specialist, Jeremiah called, is already here.”

  Elizabeth fought her drowsy eyes. “I’d feel a lot better about it if I could talk to my parents first. Or write them a letter.”

  Every part of her felt heavy, though her heart beat quickened. Anxiety pricked at her skin. She wanted to run, but her limbs were not obeying.

  Paula stood and retrieved sheets from the closet, covering the bed. “Don’t worry about a thing. Jeremiah will take good care of you. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” She took Elizabeth’s arm and led her to the bed. “Come on dear. Let’s lie you down. They’ll be here soon.”

  Elizabeth tried to pull back but her arm felt like rubber, as if it wasn’t connected anymore to her brain. “My drink. Was there something...” Her speech slurred as her vision became hazy. Something was wrong.

  “Of course sweetie. Jeremiah didn’t want you to have to be in pain during this. I told you, he’d take care of you.”

  “But, but—” Her screams of protest were unvoiced, muted inside her mind.

  Trapped in a body with no control, she was placed face down on the bed. Paula tied something around her wrists and ankles. This was wrong. No matter what Jeremiah said, this was wrong.

  Paula tugged at her hair and zipped down the back of her dress.

  People entered the room. Muffled voices spoke as if they were far away, yet someone approached her. She tried to squirm away, but hands steadied her.

  “Be still,” Jeremiah’s deep voice radiated through her body.

  She couldn’t fight the pull of her heavy lids and found peace in the darkness.

  Without warning, a scalding pain shot through her body. Her eyes snapped open. She couldn’t control the scream that erupted. The high pitched cry sounded animalistic. She arched, pulling against the restraints. Pain pierced her to the core as if severing some vital part of her soul, something that she had never known was a part of her.

  Chapter Eight

  Darion closed the door on the crying girl, and a guilty relief washed over him. He leaned against the wall in the narrow corridor. Thank God, it wasn’t Becca.

  The young girl’s pale hair and full face was a stark contrast to his ex-girlfriend’s. The only similarity lay on the girl’s back. The Hand of Mary tattoo matched Becca’s exactly, down to the blue ink. He could only wonder what that meant. The powerful tattoo carried a complicated spell few knew and even less could afford.

  Soft cries traveled under the door. A nauseated feeling, which had been present in his gut since he first placed a hand on the girl, threatened to overwhelm him. He hurried to the bathroom down the hall and shut the door. Bent over the sink, he repeatedly splashed cold water over his face. He didn’t dare raise his face to the mirror. He loathed himself for working for the coven, especially Jeremiah.

  He needed to leave the city. Get off everyone’s radar if he ever wanted to be free of them. Being raised in the coven didn’t spare him from the leader’s influence or anger.

  His parents had died before he reached eight, and his last living relative died three years ago, singing the praises of their coven leader, Ryma.

  And now, with Becca gone, he had nothing holding him back. He had run before at the death of his aunt, and the coven found him. But he was younger then. Maybe he could go to the coast?

  He dried his face and hands. A renewed determination gave him focus. He needed these jobs, and the money to get him far away from here. Maybe he could even sell some demon names. Wizards were always willing to pay for the names to summon demons. No. He would need those names to remain hidden. They were his last defense. He was dead without them.

  He opened the door and froze.

  Jeremiah stood waiting in the hall. He was tall, but it didn’t hide his extra weight that came with age. His pale skin was a stark contrast to his dark eyes and hair. He peered down his sharp nose with disgust, as if he could read Darion’s thoughts.

  He wasn’t a mind reader, Darion resolved and stood straight.

  “Come have a drink.” Jeremiah didn’t wait for a reply, but walked down the hall.

  Darion reluctantly followed. Jeremiah probably had at least five or more demons in this home, waiting eagerly to strike: two or three Soultorns were security around the building, Jeremiah’s own personal Soultorn was a level five, and probably several less powerful demons lay in wait.

  Not many wizards could control that many demons, and several had ended up dead in their attempts. But Jeremiah was next in line for coven leader. It took work to maneuver that high. Rumors were that Jeremiah was supposed to be the current coven leader, but he was passed over as Ryma wormed his way into power. That hurt had to last for years.

  They entered Jeremiah’s den. One portion of the room was filled with expected decor, bookshelves, a desk, and two leather arm chairs. The other side of the room resembled some dark wizard’s torture chamber as the main stage.

  Jeremiah’s Soultorn, a manicured Neanderthal with strong sharp features and smooth blond hair, sat on a single wooden stool. It sat next to a pentagram that held another demon in its true form. The creature almost resembled an albino bat, with blood dripping down its chin. Its wings, shredded and crimson, unfurled and its ears grew into horns as it hissed at Darion.

  He sat down and accepted a drink from Jeremiah, pushing the images out of his mind. His skin prickled with the energy radiating from the two demons. He detested the part of him that wanted to tap into that power, relish it.

  Jeremiah reclined in his chair, drink in hand. Shadows from the lamplight fell over his sharp features. He looked at ease while the demon writhed soundlessly behind him.

  Darion took a sip, welcoming the burn down his throat, and then set the glass down.

  Jeremiah continued to work on his drink, the ice clinking softly. “I know you have chosen not to align yourself with coven politics.”

  Darion remained silent.

  “It’s of no consequence. The coven comes first. You know that.”

  Darion bit his tongue. He’d been lectured, punished, even persecuted in the name of service and sacrifice. The cost of disobedience was high. If he chose not to serve the coven, his power, rare and valued, would be funneled through a demon possession. He preferred to control his own body, so he submitted. “I am always willing to serve where needed.”

  A smile crept over the wizard’s face. “That’s good to hear. And your service here is of real importance. Not that the wealthy elite don’t have their purposes.”

  Darion quickly finished his drink, hoping to rush this conversation.

  “My real question is where do your loyalties lie?”

  Cold tendrils of magic curled around Darion’s feet. As an enchanter, Jeremiah could push him to swear loyalty to him solely. And if Darion wasn’t careful, he just might. Darion drove his magic back in defense, strong and hot. If there was going to be a fight, he wouldn’t go quietly.

  Jeremiah smiled, acknowledging the silent exchange between them.

  Darion was sick of the games. “You question my loyalty?”

  Jeremiah’s hand appeared to brush imaginary lint off the chair. “I just want to make sure your devotion is to the coven, and not to a particular person. We all want what’s best for our kind.”

  For the first time, Darion’s interest piqued. This girl, without her tattoo, was more than he thought. Would Jeremiah be brave enough or stupid enough to make a move against the coven leader, Ryma?
/>   “I have always been loyal and have never made oaths or vows to any other,” Darion said.

  Magicians often swore loyalty to stronger wizards or witches, hoping to gain power, favor, and protection. But his loyalty always remained to himself. And magically binding himself to another never appealed to him.

  “I know. But you may soon be requested to do so.” Jeremiah set his drink down, and leaned forward. “Unrest and rebellion spreads like a sickness. Magicians with too long a leash need to be reined in for the safety of us all.”

  “Is that what the girl is for?”

  “She’s just an interest of mine,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “The real question is what side will you fall on when the fire starts?”

  A sense of dread sat in his stomach as Darion considered the implications. There had been recent rumors of rebellion. Darion needed to leave town before the rumors became something more. A takeover at that scale would leave countless bodies.

  “I’ll always stand faithfully by the coven, like my parents did before me.” He stared Jeremiah in the eyes as the lie slipped easily from his mouth. Darion said it often enough that he almost bought it himself. But he wasn’t naïve enough to think the path his parents took would end any differently for him.

  “Good.” Jeremiah scrutinized Darion as if dissecting his every word. “Just remember that.”

  “Trust me. That is something I never forget.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dressed and anxious, Becca drummed her fingers against her jeans, waiting for Caleb to finish in the shower. She’d showered earlier, before going out to grab lunch for both of them.

  They had to wait until night to head to the magician’s district to find answers. They needed the crowd that nightfall brought, to hopefully blend in. Sticking out as a stranger or possibly a Mundane wasn’t a good idea.

  The district was a strip of bars frequented by the magical kind and their best hope to find Darion. He no longer lived in his old place. She’d checked earlier.

  Caleb stepped out of the bathroom, and she forgot what she was thinking about. She couldn’t help but stare. His snug shirt showed off his toned body and tanned skin. He shrugged on his green jacket covering the white bandage wrapped around his bicep.

  “Ready?” He caught her staring, and his face lit up in a smile.

  She turned toward the door. It had been a long time since she had a man in her apartment. “Yeah.”

  “Right behind you.”

  With weapons hidden within reach, they headed down stairs and into the dark night. Shadows lay long in the street from lamp posts dotting the sidewalk. As they traveled through town, people shut themselves up in their apartments, and a discord of night creatures came out to roam. Mostly stray animals, rats and the random dog.

  After a couple of blocks of rundown buildings and makeshift shelters, an uneasy silence settled in. Old warehouses and vacant stores loomed over them, dark shadows buried within.

  Their steps were careful as they traveled the dark road scattered with potholes and loose gravel. No lights or electricity ran in this area. Abandoned after the takeover, it remained a home to minor demons, usually unleashed, hiding their existence from this world to which they were summoned.

  “Welcome to the demon’s playground,” Becca warned. “Where all good ghost stories begin.”

  He pulled his bow off his back and kept it ready at his side. “Should we have come during the daylight?”

  “Doesn’t matter too much, except for our nerves. They lurk around searching for food day or night.”

  “Comforting.”

  “Just shoot them if they notice us before they call other demons.” She was grateful to have him near. And maybe together, they would have a chance to find the answers they searched for.

  A nervous tick crept up her back. A deep breath steadied her hand, and she scanned the street.

  An animal screeched overhead. Caleb readied an arrow, but Becca yanked him to the shadows before he could let it fly.

  Not expecting it, he stumbled into her. He pressed her up against the nearby wall, one hand holding his bow and arrow, the other holding onto her waist. His touch sent heat curling into her body.

  “It hasn’t seen us yet,” she whispered, his face only inches away. She released her grip on his jacket. “We don’t want any undue attention.”

  He didn’t move his hand that rested on her hip. “Is that a vulture or a demon?”

  “There’s a difference?” she asked.

  He glanced through a dirty window next to them. “I suppose one is much harder to kill”

  Becca turned upward as the large bird flew out of sight.

  “It’s gone.”

  Caleb dropped his arms and slowly stepped back, waiting for Becca to take the lead. They continued down the street, hiding in the shadows of buildings. For the next several blocks only the cries of distant demons kept them company.

  Finally, the lights of the magicians’ district shone ahead, going from one kind of monsters to another. Unfortunately these blocks were much harder to maneuver.

  The magician’s district was lined with the neon light of clubs, restaurants, and upscale condos. People flowed through the streets, the murmur of voices filling the air. An upbeat energy, carried on the air, felt almost alive, even electric.

  She sheathed her knife, not wanting to draw attention. Caleb swung the bow over his shoulder. Demons were everywhere, whether trapped in a black eyed dog or cat, sitting obediently next to a wizard, or a pretty dark-eyed Soultorn woman trailing beside. It was the magicians holding those invisible leashes she worried about.

  “Here.” Becca turned the corner, heading toward Studio Z, known best for its alcohol, gaming, and information. She’d come a couple times before with Nikko.

  A cool breeze, laced with the sharp smell of burning salts, welcomed them to Studio Z. The salts protected the bar and relaxed the clientele. She focused on her surroundings, fighting the magic in the air.

  Heads turned as they crossed the crowded floor. Gazes raked them up and down, measuring their worth. She ignored them and focused on the task ahead. As much as they needed to find Darion, her stomach turned at the idea of seeing him again.

  She’d dated Darion for close to a year before finding out his secret. Despite her tattoo and her line of work, she never guessed he was a wizard. He was the first person she really opened up to and dared to care for since moving to the city. And he lied to her, every single day.

  “Try not to breathe too deep,” she told Caleb.

  He moved closer. “I’ll try. But breathing is sort of a necessity.”

  “It’s a relaxant. Keeps the fighting to a minimum. It’ll make you feel like you’ve had a couple of drinks.”

  He looked uncomfortable, constantly scanning the room. “Remind me again, who we’re looking for?”

  “Darion, a pyro with black hair and fair skin.” She left out the part that he might be just as likely to set them on fire as to help. She recalled words like “liar” and “I wish I never met you” coming from her mouth. Not great when looking for a favor.

  They approached the bar, which looked more fitted to serve some sort of flamboyant royalty. Its large marble counter was accented with gold trim. Behind the bar were huge golden frames, filled with different colored liquors. Three dimensional flowers, that appeared alive, covered the ceiling.

  “Is this for real?” Caleb asked.

  “With magicians, nothing ever is.” She raised a hand.

  A barista approached. Her tanned skin was smooth, and her bright emerald hair wound around into a bun on top of her head. Her sunken in cheeks and thin frame gave her the look of an addict, whether drugs, alcohol, or magic. Whatever the substance, the results were the same.

  “What do you want to drink?” Her voice was rich, almost a purr.

  “I need to find someone.”

  “I serve drinks, not information.” Long nails that matched her pale purple eyes clicked on the counter.
/>
  Becca leaned forward in attempts to keep the conversation private. “I’m looking for Darion.”

  The woman’s face remained bored.

  “The pyro,” Becca added.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to spend some money.” The woman turned to a more profitable customer.

  Becca sat back in the stool, contemplating her next move.

  Caleb brushed up against her, sending a tingling sensation up her arm. “Was it supposed to be this easy?”

  “I’m going to ask around.”

  “With this crowd?”

  “It’ll be fine.” She thought working solo might be for the best on this one. People might be willing to talk more.

  His brows creased, and he looked around the bar again. “Don’t go out of sight.”

  “I won’t.” She wasn’t careless, and didn’t want to be somebody’s follower. There were Mundanes that were desperate enough to latch onto whatever magician they could, despite the cost.

  He took her seat at the bar. She brushed her hand through her hair, looking for someone to approach.

  Several rejections later and after almost getting in a fight with a smarmy old man, she headed back to the bar. Nobody wanted to talk for free. Caleb sat at the bar, drink in hand, talking to the same barista. Her mouth curved into a welcoming smile as she leaned over the bar, most of her chest falling onto the counter.

  Becca stood next to Caleb, waiting for the woman to finish a joke involving three demons walking into a bar. Becca feigned laughter.

  Caleb turned, finally noticing her. “Any luck?”

  She shook her head, attempting to keep the annoyance off her face.

  “Kimmy here may be able to help us.”

  Becca arched an eyebrow in doubt. “Kimmy?”

  “It’s going to cost you.” The sneer from before reappeared on Kimmy’s face.

  Figures. Between Becca and Caleb, a couple of beers were all they could afford.

  “I can work something out for you,” Kimmy told Caleb. “How about a couple cups of your blood?”