Dark Rising Trilogy

by DeAnna Browne

  Darion pulled her close. His hair was dark and wild, and he had a fierce determination on his face.

  Before she could ask his plan, he pulled her hand and yelled, “Jump.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The small pink roses on the wallpaper blurred in and out of focus. Elizabeth couldn’t have said how long she’d sat at the antique desk, staring at the intricate flower pattern. In moments of clarity, she would pace the confines of the bedroom or pick up a book. She could never finish one, though. Staring at the words for hours, she’d close the book in frustration. Something wasn’t right, but how could it be?

  Her family was dead. The only home she’d ever known burned to ash. Her future…unknown. Days, fogged in depression and loss, grew in darkness until they threatened to swallow her entirely.

  The dreams, though, burned bright. Her fingers tingled from where Becca had grabbed her last night. Elizabeth had dreamed of her lost sister for years, desperately chasing what she could never catch. In last night’s dream, Becca had talked to her.

  It had taken Elizabeth a moment to recognize Becca. Her face had held harsh lines, and her body was thin, yet strong. Her sister’s earnest pleas had struck fear in her bones. Then Becca crumpled to ash, like the rest of her family.

  Elizabeth’s heart had shattered as she’d stared at the debris of her past life. Pain had washed over a body that no longer felt like hers. Part of herself lay in those ashes with her mother and father.

  Out of the ruins had emerged a dark set of eyes. Pitch black, they’d pierced right through her. Her pulse had raced, and her scream had torn through her nightmare.

  Even now, awake in her room, the dream haunted her. Elizabeth rubbed her arms absently, trying to chase the chill and her nightmares away. She focused on the small red roses, memorizing each petal, itching to tear them from the wall, so perfect and small. She picked at the paper until her nail ripped, red gathering along the cuticle. She continued until she finally tore a piece from the wall, and a warm relief washed over her. Holding it up to her nose, she could almost smell the sweet fragrance that reminded her of the garden at home.

  “Elizabeth. What are you doing?” Paula’s stern voice was brisk.

  Elizabeth hadn’t noticed her entering the room. “Nothing.” Her quick response sounded guilty, even to her ears. She placed her hands in her lap, wondering how long Paula had been standing there, watching her.

  Paula sighed and smoothed out her perfectly pressed dress, with the matching cardigan and necklace. Everything was so perfect, sometimes Elizabeth wanted to scream. “Jeremiah would like you to call on him in his study,” Paula informed her.

  “Okay.” Elizabeth bolted up, a bit unsteady but excited to be getting out.

  “Ladies don’t wish to seem overeager, dear.”

  Someone should tell her bosom that. Ignoring Paula’s comment, Elizabeth hurried out of her room. The familiar scent of burnt rosemary lingered in the air as she maneuvered down the hall.

  “Elizabeth,” Paula reprimanded from behind.

  Elizabeth struggled to slow her step, but her legs stretched with welcomed freedom. She paused in front of the door, her hand poised and ready to knock, when voices spoke from inside the study. Her uncle’s voice was a recognizable murmur, but the other voice was boisterous and haunting.

  A quick laugh carried into the hall. “Your offer is insulting. So little to rise—”

  Her uncle’s voice rose in anger. “Yet, here you are, the grand duke, at my mercy.”

  Paula yanked Elizabeth back down the hall. “Ladies don’t go lurking in doorways.”

  “I wasn’t. I just didn’t want to interrupt.” Uncertainty flooded Elizabeth’s words.

  “I see.” Paula pushed back a wave of hair as a worried look crossed her face. “It seems I misunderstood. He must have company.”

  “A duke—” Elizabeth began to say.

  “Hush, child,” Paula scolded.

  Elizabeth shrank against the wall. Part of her wanted to argue, wanted to defend her actions, but this wasn’t home. She was lucky to be taken in by her uncle at all. A gnawing sensation ate at her, as if there was a game going on in the house, and she was the only one without the rules.

  Paula smoothed her dress again. “We will return to our rooms until summoned.”

  They didn’t make it to the end of the hall before a bell rang from his study. Despite her obvious annoyance, Paula turned around and escorted Elizabeth to the study.

  Elizabeth was soon tucked into one of the leather armchairs, a cup of tea in her hand, and her skirts spread over her lap. She’d never worn so many skirts in her life. But she owned nothing herself, and relied on what Paula provided her.

  This so called duke wasn’t in the room. Was Jeremiah on the phone? Elizabeth hadn’t thought royalty existed anymore. Not since The Rising. Dukes and princes had only ever existed in the fairy tales that her mother had read to her.

  She couldn’t find any trace of another guest. No food or extra drink was set out on the dark coffee table. She couldn’t imagine this den was used much for entertaining. Old rugs covered a concrete floor. The familiar security guard in dark glasses sat tucked away in the corner.

  Her head pounded. A peculiar scent permeated the room, despite open windows.

  “Thank you for your patience, dear.” Her uncle sat in the chair across from her, dabbing his brow with a white handkerchief. He pasted a generous smile on his face then picked up the cup of tea.

  An uneasy feeling swirled around her, raising goose bumps along her arms. Her stomach turned with disgust. She should be grateful for the generosity of her uncle, she reminded herself.

  He set the tea down without taking a drink. “We need to discuss your future.”

  She placed the tea cup on the coffee table, not sure she could trust her hands.

  “There’s no room here for a bright, energetic girl like yourself.” His face remained void of all emotion.

  She bit her tongue to hold in the laugh that threatened to erupt. No one would describe her using either of those words. Like a ghost, she was a shadow of who she once was.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” His gaze felt tangible, heavy and controlling.

  She should be grateful to have family that could take her in. Instead, his face unsettled her. It reminded her of what she use to have, and how he differed greatly from the warm kindness of her mother and constant comfort of her father. Her uncle gave her neither. Yet, it was all she had.

  He crossed his legs and continued to watch her. “Given your parents’ deaths, I think it’s important to have family and be connected. I decided to move up your wedding.”

  Elizabeth choked and covered her mouth. A sea of surprise crashed upon her. As pragmatic as marriage might be, did her uncle honestly think she should talk about marriage, days after learning about her parents’ death?

  He reached across the coffee table, lifting her chin with a finger. His cold touch startled her.

  As she got lost in his gaze, the tumult of emotions soothed to a rocking wave. A slow mist of understanding prevailed. She had no future, and her uncle was giving her one. Who knew, maybe the duke even had a hand in it?

  “Okay, Jeremiah.” The words flowed out with conscious decision.

  She tasted blood and realized she’d bitten the inside of her mouth. Traveling deeper into the fog and confusion, she didn’t know up from down. She only knew that Jeremiah had the answer.

  It took Becca a moment before she registered the small tongue and wretched breath. A cry sounded, and she snapped awake to a fuzzy face demanding attention.

  “Go catch a mouse,” she told the gray cat in front of her, the one she brought home from the fire.

  Given the state of the room, she’d bet there was plenty of vermin nearby. Through the tattered curtains, shards of light illuminated the rundown bedroom filled with several cats.

  She shifted slightly, and Darion tightened his hold around her waist. Becca’s blood rac
ed at the warmth of his touch.

  When they’d fallen asleep on the tattered blanket in the abandoned house, there was a considerable space between them. Somehow during the night, she must have ended up in his arms. She’d allowed herself that peace and security through the night, but couldn’t let herself go there now. She had a job to do, which involved saving Caleb.

  Slowly lifting Darion’s arm, she attempted to extricate herself carefully without hurting him. He was in bad shape last night. They’d taped up his ribs and bandaged his arms.

  The burns on his hand already appeared somewhat healed, from his ointment or his magic.

  “Good morning to you, too.” His rough voice brushed her neck.

  She stood, heat rushing to her face as she struggled to find something to say.

  He sat up carefully and rubbed his face. He looked like hell. Dried blood clotted on a gash above his brow, surrounded by a deep bruise. “Don’t hurt yourself there,” he said. “I understand. You only want me near if you’re inebriated or too exhausted to know better.”

  “It’s not that.” She swallowed hard, knowing she hadn’t slept so soundly in a long time. But she couldn’t get attached to him, not again. It had taken too long to get over him the first time. She needed to focus on saving Caleb. Her stomach turned at the thought of him left in the hands of magicians.

  “I know you have the farm boy,” he said, as if he could sense her thoughts. His aloof smile and indifferent air put more space between them. The gray cat nuzzled his way under Darion’s hand, and he stroked its fur.

  Traitor. She was the one to pull it from the fire.

  “Caleb. His name is Caleb,” she said barely above a whisper, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Caleb. Who you’re willing to die for?” His words were seeped in anger.

  She didn’t answer. He set the cat aside and stood. He smelled of smoke, his clothes charred rags. He moved closer to her, making her lift her chin to meet his gaze. She fought the impulse to step back. His body radiated an energy she could almost feel, tangible and intense.

  “Then help me connect the dots,” he said. His steel eyes narrowed. “If we die or, worse, are captured, then what good will it be?”

  She struggled to put it in words. How could he understand the missing pieces of her life she lost the day she walked out on her family, her life? They’d been better off without her, but a small nugget of hope had remained that one day she might return. That was crushed. Caleb was the only part of that life left. He’d been her best friend and more. He was the promise of what once was.

  Becca ignored his question, wanting to avoid the fight, and reached for the bag on the floor. It had taken Darion some time to unlock the spell on the statuesque cat. Once he did, the pillow opened, full of gems and coins, and the cat returned to normal.

  “Will it be enough?” she asked. The backpack didn’t feel heavy enough to hold the worth of a man, especially Caleb.

  “Should be.” He walked to the window and peered outside. “A couple thousand dollars. You could start a new life with that. Far from here.” He pulled the curtain closed, and the fabric tore in his hand. He cursed a steady stream that spoke of more than torn cloth. He paced the room, agitation evident in his tight shoulders.

  “I can go alone.” She wanted to give him an out if that was what he was looking for. “Get me in, and I can do the rest. I’ve never been. I’ll be harder to recognize.”

  “It’s more than going to a regular market and bartering for a cheap weapon. The politics alone will eat you alive. People question new faces.”

  “Okay…” Nothing could be simple with witches, could it?

  “And even though Jeremiah doesn’t usually go there. He will have men there and a price on my head.”

  Guilt sank, heavy and cold, in her gut. As much as she needed to save Caleb, could she sacrifice Darion in the process? She wasn’t ready to give one life for another. “You’ve helped me more than I could expect.”

  He grabbed her arm, demanding her whole attention. “You wouldn’t make it.”

  “But—” she started to protest.

  He tightened his grip. “You. Won’t. Survive. Alone.” He forced the words through a clenched jaw. “You’ll need to change everything about yourself just to get through the door. That will take quite a bit of money. Then maybe, just maybe, if you can listen to me, you might survive the auction. Trust me.”

  She bit her tongue, not trusting the anger and fear boiling under her skin. If it was so dangerous, why was he doing this? Guilt from their past relationship? Part of her didn’t completely trust him yet. Hell, she didn’t trust herself around him. But any feelings she might had have were pushed to the back burner, because, when she thought of the danger she was putting him in, it was all too much.

  “I have to do this.” She wished there was another way.

  “Then I have to go with you. Guess we both have things we can’t live without.” He dropped her arm and turned away. “We better get moving. We have a lot to do before the auction tomorrow.” He didn’t wait for a reply before leaving the room.

  Alone, Becca ignored the tingling where his hand had been and the warmth in her stomach. The gray cat rubbed against her leg. “What the hell am I doing?”

  Thoughts of leaving him crossed her mind, but Darion didn’t bluff. She was out of her league. She didn’t know anything about Moondance. Sitting on the sidelines wasn’t an option, though. Neither was losing Caleb or Darion.

  Her hand trembled as she stroked the cat. She had run before. She had left those she loved because she couldn’t face herself and regretted that more than anything. She would never see her family again. That fact ate at her heart, but built up her resolve.

  She pushed down any reservations. They would only hinder what she had to do next. “Sorry, kitty. Gotta go.” She stood and followed Darion out the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  The clouds parted enough for the sun to peak out. Becca welcomed the warmth as she accompanied Darion to his friend’s place. They had parked a couple blocks away and walked through the rundown buildings and vacant lots littered with trash. The streets were empty, only a random person now and again who kept to themselves. Becca had never traveled to this part of the city before.

  They approached a small two-story complex, complete with rotting wood, peeling paint, and a very large rat that scurried across their path. It reminded Becca of her first apartment—she still had nightmares about the roaches in that place.

  In the foyer, the carpet was stained blood red like a bad start to a horror story. Gratefully they avoided the stairs and maneuvered down the hall, which appeared patched together with super glue. He stopped in front of a green door, One E. The E hung askew by a rusty nail.

  “Are you sure about this?” Becca scanned the hall, waiting for some type of demon to jump out at them. “Soultorns live better than this.”

  One side of Darion’s mouth lifted in a smile. “You’ll see.”

  How could she love and hate that same stupid smile?

  Before he could knock on the door, it opened. It only took a few steps to see they were entering not just a rundown apartment, but a whole different world.

  Light aquamarine walls, appeared in constant motion, like the surface of water on a windy day. Unique pieces of furniture were arranged to perfection and highlighted with bright blasts of exotic flowers. Even the salty tropical scent had to be fabricated. A deep purple flower with blue neon strips swayed as if alive—but it wasn’t alive or even real. None of this was real.

  Magic. Amazingly beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

  The door shut with a loud click. Stepping farther inside, she imagined the walls closing in on her and wished to be back with the rats.

  All of this was born from demon energy. All magic was. When the portal to the demon dimension opened, powers grew. Wizards fed off demons, demons fed off people, usually Mundanes—that was the new circle of life.

  Scanning the hallway,
she followed Darion farther into a room. Her steps were thick and heavy, as if drifting through dense fog. She must be imagining things. This was the product of an illusionist twisting reality, or one’s perception of it. She had never witnessed anything like it. Becca’s back straightened, her hand lingering by the knife at her side.

  A man emerged from behind the wall, as if parting the sea, with all the showmanship of a practiced performer. His gold scarf and white suit shone bright against his caramel skin. His open arms and wide smile were welcoming. He looked young maybe twenty, with bright eyes and flawless skin, despite Darion telling her he was older. Magicians— you never know what you’d get.

  “Darion. So good to see you again.” Nevada said, hugging his old friend. “Drab as ever.”

  “You never were one for sugar coating, Nevada.” Amusement colored Darion’s words.

  “Why bother?” The wizard shrugged and brushed his dark feathered hair across his brow while his lips shimmered pink. “So what did you bring me?”

  He turned his bright emerald eyes on Becca. They shined with a youth that surprised her, but maybe that was an illusion too.

  “Nevada, this is Becca. We are need of your services.” Nevada reached forward, grabbing Becca’s hand. Against her better judgment, she let him. She kept her knife hand free.

  “It’ll be my pleasure,” he purred. Nevada led them into an adjourning room, while Darion explained what was needed.

  “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you for some time,” he told Darion. Exuberance twinkled in his eyes.

  “I’m not here for a makeover.”

  “Yes, yes. I know.” Then turning his attention back to Becca, Nevada added, “Darion is still angry from when I gave him breasts during one of our lessons.”

  “What?” she choked out. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

  “Nevada,” Darion warned.

  Lessons? Darion had never mentioned magical lessons. But then they rarely spoke of magic. Only what she needed to know. She couldn’t imagine his life filled with magical lessons or school.