“Hey, Marco, got an extra smoke?”
The heavy guard briefly glanced over his shoulder, cigarette in his mouth. He looked twice, before realizing Becca was behind Darion. Becca started to curse the stupidity of the simple plan when the guard’s cigarette exploded.
He yelled in surprise and began cursing in a foreign tongue. The air felt electric as Darion closed the distance between the two men in the blink of an eye. But something stopped Darion short of making contact. They stood a foot apart, an invisible barrier separating them. The fire was gone as quick as it appeared.
Becca stepped off the porch. Leaves swirled around her ankles, the air carrying a live current to it.
Darion’s jaw tightened as he softly cursed the wizard. His hands opened, palms up.
The guard snapped his head up in her direction. Something tossed Becca against the porch railing. She struggled to move against magical bindings. Each move was like slugging through drying concrete. Her arms hung heavy, too heavy for an effective throw. Her knife would do little against the power at play here. Pulling on the wet railing, she slowly moved down the length of the house.
Darion spoke in a strong voice, containing a power, both frightening and amazing, that she’d never seen before. The green leaves on the trees began to burn, a dark smoke that traveled through the magical barrier. The smoke crept over the dampened earth throughout the clearing, stinging her eyes.
The man struggled to breathe, his lips unable to continue the steady stream of words. He fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for air.
“Run,” Darion ordered through gritted teeth.
She jolted awake, rain splattering down on her. Whatever magic that held her back, disappeared. She could run. But what about Darion? She couldn’t leave him to Jeremiah. A scream sounded from inside the house. They had to get out of there.
“Darion, come on.” She almost could hear the commotion in the house, people sounding the alarm.
“I’ll be right behind you.” He focused on the man in front of him. “Go. Now!”
Run, she told herself. Run.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hold still,” Paula demanded as she pulled Elizabeth’s hair into a braid.
Hard to hold still while you’re yanking my hair out. Elizabeth bit her tongue. Arguing with Paula was pointless. At least the pain in her scalp kept her thoughts from overwhelming her.
Paula had lectured repeatedly about how lucky she was to be in Jeremiah’s household, blessed not to be living like the scavengers in the slums. Elizabeth’s bedroom shone with an opulence she’d never seen at home. Lush carpet, lavender scented sheets, and maids that Elizabeth had thought only ever existed in books. Even now, her reflection was surrounded by a large golden frame.
The luxury didn’t ease the gnawing sensation eating at her. She missed her mother’s soft hands combing through her hair, and her father’s big hugs and woodsy smell. Tears blurred her vision at the thought of never seeing her parents again. It didn’t feel real.
She was sure, if she went back home, they would be there. Mom would be singing in the kitchen, and Dad teasing her as she did the dishes.
Staring at her reflection, with every hair in place, Elizabeth didn’t feel lucky.
There was a quick knock on the door. Paula finished the braid in a huff and answered it, hands on hips.
One of the guards stood in the doorway, the tall one with a cute smile. “Jeremiah needs you in his office,” he said.
“Fine. I guess breakfast can be late.” Paula left with a swish of her long skirt.
Alone, Elizabeth’s stomach growled at the news about breakfast. She reached for the water pitcher, only to find it empty. She stood with slight hesitation.
They wouldn’t mind if I get water, would they? It’s not like they want me starving and dehydrated.
They had never strictly forbidden her to be out of her room. She had left several times—never alone, though. Paula, with those stern set of lips, claimed her uncle had company for work, and it would be inappropriate for a young woman to be roaming the house. Elizabeth wasn’t a mangy mutt. She planned to slip to the kitchen and back before anyone would notice.
She opened the door to the hall, glad to find it empty. Padding down the stairs, she silently cursed her nerves for being on edge. She was soon to be a bride. She could get herself a drink of water and stop acting like a child sneaking a cookie.
She crossed a hallway and opened the door to the kitchen. The smell of baking bread floated down the hall, and Elizabeth realized just how hungry she was. Maybe she could convince that mean old cook to let her have a slice.
A scream erupted from the kitchen. Elizabeth ran toward it, running into one of the serving girls, Julia.
“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked.
Julia just pushed past Elizabeth, yelling for security. She stopped for a moment. Should she hurry back to her room? What if someone was in trouble? Growing up on a farm, she had seen her share of emergencies. Her heart picked up its pace as she continued forward.
She found the kitchen empty, just breakfast cooking in the oven. A moan erupted from behind the pantry door. “Tulla.” Elizabeth raced over to the cook, who was struggling to sit up. She lent an arm to the woman. “Are you okay?”
“What do you think?” Tulla sniped. Her hand clutched the side of her head. “Get me a drink. I’m going to be sick.”
Elizabeth paused, questions ready on her lips. Tulla scowled, and Elizabeth turned to get that drink. She grabbed a glass in the cupboard and turned on the cold faucet.
As the water rushed into the cup, she stared out the window. Smoke filled her view. The large ash tree was on fire. Two people ran toward the woods. From this distance, she couldn’t make them out. The water in the cup overflowed down her hand. Startled, she reached to turn off the faucet.
“Water, child,” Tulla called from the floor.
Ignoring Tulla, Elizabeth peered closer. Smoke twirled from the branches. A cold chill crept up her back. The smoke’s movement, unnatural and snake-like, had a mind of its own. The vapors wrapped around a body. Two feet jutted out of the smoke, men’s shoes, dark and still.
The glass in her hand shattered in the bottom of the sink.
Becca sprinted into the woods, legs burning. She slowed her pace once she found the shelter of the trees. Fall leaves were scattered on the ground, and she couldn’t afford to leave a trail. Her step was light and swift. She turned her head, checking for any followers.
Darion approached, with no one behind him, for now. “We need to head east,” he said, motioning deeper into the woods. With the overcast sky, it was hard to sense direction. They kept up a steady pace, jumping over random rocks and branches.
She focused on her steps so as to not leave a trail or break an ankle. “I thought the city was south.”
“It is. I can cover our tracks to some extent, but not hide us completely.” Darion’s words came out between rushed breaths. “Jeremiah isn’t going to be traipsing through the woods. He’ll send others to find us.”
Darion then turned and spoke a spell, ruffling the leaves behind them. A ripple passed through the air, as if she could almost watch the magic. Her imagination was going overboard. On a second look, she realized it was water drizzling through the canopy of leaves.
Without a word, they both kept moving under the gray sky. They traveled for hours, slowing to a brisk walk when she needed the break. The only sounds were the crunch of the leaves and their breath. Sweat dampened her shirt, the wound on her back screaming with every step. Her legs went from burning, to numb, to feeling like useless appendages.
She didn’t mind the pain, though. It pulled her mind away from the recurring thoughts of her family, Caleb, and her uncle. Pictures of her beautiful sister, dead at the hands of magicians, swam through her mind. Then she worried what Caleb’s fate would be.
One foot in front of the other. She had to keep moving. Caleb was out there, and she would do whatever was needed
to get him back.
Cold hard concrete pressed into Caleb’s cheek. He blinked several times, clearing his vision. Metal bars filled his view as his last conscious moments came flooding back.
“Rebecca.” He bolted upright, searching for any sign of her.
He resided in one of many cages, barely big enough to stand in, with only an orange bucket for company. He scanned the other cell, hoping for a glimpse of Rebecca.
They were housed in some type of warehouse, with tall ceilings and yellow industrial lights. Rebecca was nowhere to be found.
He called her name again. Some of the occupants stirred slightly. Others used quiet, but colorful, language to tell him to shut up.
He tensed and fought the urge to yell. The door of the cage held a heavy lock which he couldn’t budge. There was no way out.
“Rebecca!” he screamed in frustration.
“Hey, muscles, quiet down before you get us all in trouble. You came in here alone,” said a thin young woman in the cage next him. Her blonde hair was knotted in a bun on top of her head. Her dress—short and tight—didn’t leave much to the imagination.
He ignored the hot blonde and continued pulling on the barred door. He prayed for something, anything, to give. He couldn’t just sit here. A panic deep inside threatened to explode. He had to get out.
“Maybe muscles, but not brains,” a short older man said from the cage on other side of the girl. “Don’t make too much noise or the guards will come back.”
“I have to get out of here,” Caleb said.
Last he remembered her boss had kidnapped them at gun point and turned them over to Rebecca’s uncle, Jeremiah. Caleb had never trusted that man and couldn’t fathom the role he played in all of this. Caleb had lost everything. His family. His home.
Rebecca was the last piece of himself he remembered. He couldn’t lose her too. He lay on his side and tried to kick the lock lose.
The blonde twisted a piece of hair around her finger. “It won’t help, muscles. Not unless you have a demon up your sleeve.”
He couldn’t believe that. There had to be something. He couldn’t lie down and die, trapped like an animal. He continued kicking at the lock.
A loud scratching sound echoed off the bare walls as a large sliding door opened. He froze, hoping to glimpse something outside this hell. Beyond the door, was nothing remarkable. A cloudy sky and dirt field with nothing else in sight.
“Thanks, buddy,” the old man scoffed a few cages down.
People scampered to the back of their cages. The hair on Caleb’s arm stood straight up. A change in temperature sent a slight chill creeping up his spine. He stood tensed and ready to fight.
A couple approached. The man reminded him of a rodent, with short spiked hair and a tight shirt. But Caleb was drawn to the beautiful Soultorn on his arm in a black dress.
Tall and thin, it moved with a dancer’s grace. Its light hair framed pink lips, pristine skin, and pitch black eyes. Neither the man nor Soultorn spoke, but continued on a straight course for Caleb.
They smiled, stopping a few feet from his cage. “Welcome to my establishment. I hoped your neighbors informed you of the rules.”
“What happened to the girl that was with me? She had—”
The man lifted a hand, and Caleb was forced to his knees. His muscles strained against the magic, like tight cords ready to burst.
“Let’s remember our manners, shall we?” The man slowly dropped his hand, and the pressure on Caleb released.
“I’m Pove. The manager here. If you follow the rules, you’ll leave here soon enough. If you don’t, you’ll wish you were dead.”
Caleb knelt on the floor, not ready to move until he thought he could get away with it. He focused on this little man, hoping he’d step closer to the cage. If only he could reach him.
“The rules are simple. Be quiet. Be obedient. Be kind, especially to customers. And don’t try to escape.”
“That’s all?” Caleb asked. Did Pove think he would actually comply so easily?
“For now.”
“What about the girl?”
Pove shook his head slightly. “Questions are not part of this game.”
Caleb stood, gripping the bars. He had to find Rebecca. “The girl, Rebecca, has dark hair. I need to know if she’s here?”
Pove ignored his questions and nodded to the Soultorn on his arm. It opened its mouth. A buzzing noise erupted out of the Soultorn and crawled into Caleb head, devouring reason. Searing pain brought him down on all fours, head pressed into the hard concrete.
A brief glance showed that the other people were in similar positions—hands over ears, crouched on the floor. The wretched noise continued on until he wasn’t sure when it began or how it ever was going to end. He struggled to think outside this pain.
It took several moments for him to realize the noise had finally ended. The echo of the pain ached in his bones and swam in his head. He remained crouched on the floor, uncertain if he could sit up or move without being sick. When he looked up, those perfect pink lips smiled wide.
The man squatted low in front of the bars, his voice rough. “There’s nothing outside this cage. No one. You can live with or without this beauty in your head. Sometimes I like to feed her just to make her happy. Isn’t she so pretty when she’s happy?”
Pove didn’t wait for a response, but rose, took the Soultorn’s hand under his arm, and walked out. Caleb was left with only the memories of his past to haunt him.
Chapter Fourteen
Becca’s feet screamed in protest when they stepped out of the rundown cab. Darion had flagged it down when they first entered the city. They got out a few blocks before their destination. Even though she didn’t see any of Jeremiah’s men, it didn’t mean he couldn’t follow their trail.
“We’re going back to your place?” she asked.
“No, too dangerous.”
They weaved between darkened buildings uptown in the magicians’ district. As they approached a street, he lifted a hand, holding her back. A group of guys walked down the street, loud and probably drunk. Not until they turned the corner did Darion step into the street.
“Why do you even bother hiding?” she asked in hushed tones. “You’re a magician. You can burn them alive.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not invincible. And I usually try to avoid trouble where I can.”
As much as magicians disgusted her, she wanted to know who or what Darion really was. When she’d first learned about his lies, her anger and rage pushed out everything else. She didn’t stick around to listen to any explanations. But now, his powers were necessary to her survival and, possibly, Caleb’s.
Darion moved to a dark doorway halfway down the alley. “My friend owns a bar we can crash at.”
“He’ll be fine with you bringing a friend?” Becca was tired, but the uncertainty of a new place, new people, possibly tied to magicians, put her on edge.
“He’s a she,” he informed her and knocked on the door.
Becca wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
A dim yellow bulb hung over the worn green door. It flickered for several seconds before a small window opened in the top.
“Tell Cynthia, it’s Darion,” he said to someone behind the door. The wood slat returned to its original position. After another minute, the door opened.
A look of relief crossed the woman’s face as she pulled Darion into a hug. “I’ve been worried. Come in.”
Becca had no claim on Darion and didn’t want one, but she couldn’t help but wonder who this woman was. The woman looked older, maybe in her thirties, and was utterly gorgeous. Her long wavy black hair shimmered with dark purple and blue highlights. Her clothes fit perfectly, accenting every curve. All of a sudden, the dirt, grime, and sweat weighed Becca down. She ignored the urge to adjust her clothing and followed them inside. They entered a hallway, stacked with random supplies. It looked like a back office or storage.
“Jeremiah’s put
a summons out for you,” Cynthia told
Darion. “What did you do?”
He smirked, part of a smile tugging up. “Nothing you wouldn’t have done.”
“That isn’t reassuring.” She looked him up and down, as if making sure he was all right. “Need a place to stay?”
“We do.” Then he motioned to Becca, “Cynthia this is
Becca.”
As Cynthia turned her attention to Becca, all the warmth left her face.
“In the flesh,” Becca joked. She couldn’t find the energy to smile, though. After the last twenty four hours, she didn’t have it in her.
“Great,” Cynthia said without feeling. “Go upstairs and get cleaned up. I’ll find you some food.”
Becca followed Darion through the hallway and up a flight of worn stairs.
“Who’s Cynthia?” she finally asked as they reached the second floor, forcing a casual tone.
“I told you.” He reached a door, holding it open. “A friend. An old one.”
She didn’t look that old to me, she thought as she followed him inside.
Darion flipped a switch behind her, and lights bathed the room in an artificial glow. The large room held a king sized bed, a dresser, and small table with two chairs. The light blue walls and a chic bed cover spoke of refined money that unsettled Becca. She picked up a heavy marble ashtray off the table. It could probably pay her rent for a month.
Darion always had money while dating her, but nothing this elaborate. He’d claimed he worked for the black market. She wondered how he really lived. The Darion she thought she knew drifted farther and farther away.
She set down the ashtray. “So…only one bed.”
“I can take the floor.” Six months ago, Darion would make some joke about them wrestling for it. Instead, an awkward silence settled in between them—two strangers with a complicated past. “Why don’t you go take a hot shower, and I’ll get you a change of clothes? Then we can get a bite to eat and figure out our next step.”
Dark Rising Trilogy Page 8