Dark Rising Trilogy

by DeAnna Browne

  “He was busty.” Nevada’s laugh bounced as they entered a room.

  The ocean blue walls continued, dotted with long mirrors and the ceiling imitated the sky, with clouds floating by. Dark furniture littered the room with several dressers, and a small bar.

  “Please have a seat,” Nevada offered.

  Becca sat down in a black suede chair with an elaborate high back, while the other two sat across a coffee table that looked like a miniature tree with a flat top. She brushed her hand over the soft material of her chair in awe, while her gaze continued around the room.

  “It’s been too long,” Nevada told Darion.

  Becca couldn’t concentrate on the conversation. In a corner of the room, amid all of the opulence, something studied Becca. A demon. Her muscles tensed as she gripped her chair.

  The demon leered with blood red eyes, set deep within its arachnid shape. Dark brown hair covered its body and all eight legs, which ended in a type of claw. It crossed its legs in front with an unsettling human quality. It hissed at her, displaying a long row of pointed teeth. Her instincts told her to run. Instead, she turned her head away and released a jagged breath.

  “You know how it is,” Darion said, undisturbed. “Trying to get lost from the coven’s radar is a full time job.”

  “Oh, I know it,” Nevada replied.

  She needed this wizard and, if necessary, his demon to disguise herself for the market. She was supposed to be a wealthy witch, while Darion posed as her security. With Jeremiah searching for them, it was their only option. Sometimes you have to dance with the devil to get what you want.

  Neither of the guys appeared bothered by the demon’s presence. Becca continued to feel its eyes bearing down on her, treating her like a meal that was just out of reach.

  “Becca.” Darion dragged her back into the conversation. “Ready?”

  She nodded, and Nevada sat on the coffee table facing her. He leaned forward, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. She flinched. It was instinct.

  “Stop acting like I’m about to cut off your nose,” Nevada chided. “If anything, I’m going to improve it.”

  The demon in the corner didn’t help her nerves. “So how does this work?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re unschooled—”

  Darion coughed, interrupting.

  “I’m not a witch,” Becca informed him.

  Nevada was a friend of Darion’s so she didn’t think it would hurt to state the obvious. Nevada raised an eyebrow and glanced at Darion. Darion shook his head. It felt as if a silent conversation passed between them.

  “Okay. Just hold still,” Nevada ordered.

  Her stomach continued its nervous churning, despite the necessity of the task and Darion’s reassurances of the procedure.

  Darion had warned her that a demon’s presence would be necessary to pull power for the magic. The demon in the corner was only part of it. For the first time ever, Becca was willing to let a magician curse her—not only willing, but paying for it.

  Becca shot Darion a skeptical look, as he sat in a lounge chair across the room, practically beaming with, what Becca imagined, was a sort of grim satisfaction.

  Darion laughed briefly. “You’re making more of a fuss than when you were stabbed by a mugger.”

  “I’d take a mugger any day.”

  “I bet.”

  “This can be undone right, right?”

  “Undone?” Nevada choked, as if the insult physically hurt. “Do you know how much people pay for my work? You don’t deserve my discount.”

  “Don’t insult the illusionist, before he works on you,” Darion warned, as he struggled to contain a laugh.

  “Shush you two.” Nevada began a series of incantations or spells, most of which Becca didn’t understand.

  Her skin prickled and crawled. The skin on the back of her hands darkened ever so slightly as the fingers lengthened, the nails turning a light pink shade. She closed her eyes, not willing to watch the rest. Seconds ticked by slowly, as magic, like a heavy blanket, covered her skin.

  “So how’s blonde for you Darion?” Nevada asked as a wave of frigid air poured down Becca’s head. Goose bumps ran up her arms.

  Darion choked on something and, after a second, asked,

  “Do you have a sister?”

  Her breath left in a rush as if someone sucker punched her. She refused to pull up memories of her sister, not in front of others. She had never told Darion about her family. No one talked about their past in this city. It was safer that way. So she told him the truth, “No.” Not anymore.

  “Whatever.” Nevada broke the uncomfortable silence. “I think it’s overdone anyways.” He finished working, a tingling sensation pouring over her head.

  “Open your eyes.” Nevada still sat in front of her, uncomfortably close and focused on her face.

  “What eye color do you think, Darion?”

  “Whatever is popular.”

  “Pity. That’s one of the few things I like about her old look.”

  Becca tried not to take offense. She liked her hazel eyes too, with specks of blue and green that popped out with what she wore.

  “They’re recognizable. Change them.” Darion’s firm voice left no room for questions.

  “I do so love the pale lilac that’s in fashion.”

  Becca opened her mouth to protest, but was immediately shushed while Nevada finished his work. She could only wonder who in the world had lilac eyes and realized probably the same type of people who named their son Nevada.

  “Am I done?”

  Darion stood beside Nevada. He studied her face closely, searching for a piece of her former self. They both ignored the demon, now smaller, writhing in pain in the corner, its mouth open in soundless screams.

  Nevada reached for her hand and pulled her in front of the mirror. “Come on. Tell me I’m a genius. I’m not modest.”

  Full, plum-colored lips hung ajar. A slender hand touched her face. She ran her fingers through the sleek black curtain of hair that fell past her shoulders. When the light hit right, deep purple hues emerged. The vision of this woman, who must be of Asian descent, was breathtakingly beautiful.

  Amazement and fear coursed through her veins. This gorgeous mirage was a great disguise, but would she be able to find herself again? She had to remind herself: this was only an illusion. A smokescreen. There was no true transformation, just a magical hallucination surrounding her.

  “Close your mouth,” Nevada chided. “If I were you, I’d think about keeping it.”

  Nevada opened one of the large closets. “There are several dresses for you to try on. Here are some of my favorites.” He set a few on a chair. “We’ll figure out accessories in a little bit.”

  She touched her face, but nothing felt different. Her fingers trailed down her arm. It looked flawless, but there on her palm she felt her familiar scar. “So how does this work? I don’t feel any different physically.”

  “It’s a mirage,” Nevada responded, as if stating the obvious.

  “But are there any limits, anything I shouldn’t do?”

  “Not really. Be careful with fighting. You’ll feel a hit, but your body won’t show a bruise or cut. Hard for first aid.” He pulled out two more dresses. “Others will sense your illusion, but no one will remove it. If they start that, think of how many uggos would be revealed.” He laughed and took out one more bright orange dress. “I could do a dress but it wouldn’t have the same feel or texture as the real thing—” The pile of dresses was as unique as his apartment.

  “You ready for me?” Darion interrupted.

  “Let me grab a drink and refuel.” Nevada stretched out his neck. He glanced at the demon in the corner, writhing on the floor with it fangs bared. “We’ll probably need my other demon upstairs.”

  Another pet? Becca turned away, struggling to hide her disgust.

  “I’ll meet you upstairs,” Darion said.

  Becca looked into the mirror again. Purple eyes blinke
d with unnaturally long eyelashes that matched in color. She wasn’t ever going to get used to this reflection.

  “Is this what you people find attractive?” she asked, curious.

  Darion stopped abruptly. “You people?”

  “You know, magicians. Do they just make up whatever fantasy they want and create it?” She didn’t mean to be offensive by the question.

  “If you’re rich enough, sure. Personally, I stay away from illusions. When I was a kid, I once saw a hot blonde turn into an eighty year old man.” He grabbed a bottle of water behind the bar. “Who would want to accidentally wake up to that in the morning?”

  Becca sifted through the dresses. “True.”

  “When you try them on, make sure you can fight, or run in it. Nevada can get carried away sometimes.”

  “You don’t say?” She picked up a light green dress, heavy with crystals.

  “If anyone knows what people want to see, it’s Nevada.”

  She touched this elaborate dress, and doubt overwhelmed her. She’d never worn anything like this. Could she really pull off a wealthy witch going to an auction? Her other options were to storm the place or to try to steal Caleb as he was leaving with his new owners. The first one was definitely out, and there was no way she could watch every exit to the market, even with Darion. There were too many things that could go wrong.

  Darion approached slowly, as if sensing her apprehension. She tensed, not wanting to hear a lecture about how she was going to get everyone killed.

  He touched her shoulder lightly, his fingers hot on her bare skin. “Don’t worry. Original Becca will always be my favorite.” He turned, leaving her alone in the room.

  She could feel where his hand had been, as she stared at the stranger in the mirror. She wasn’t completely alone, though. Demon eyes continued to watch her from the corner, reminding her of where all of this came from.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The clanging of metal woke Caleb. He squinted at the fluorescent lights that constantly burned and blocked out any sense of time.

  “Inspection,” a voice growled. “Get up.” A large red-haired guard unlocked the cage and threw the door wide open.

  Caleb’s body ached as he pushed up to a sitting position. Noise echoed through the warehouse, and the smell of bleach stung his nose.

  He purposely slowed his movements as his mind raced. Was this his chance to escape? The warehouse was covered with guards but an open lock was one step closer.

  “Time to clean up,” the guard bellowed.

  Caleb crawled out of the opening and stood next to his cage, scanning for any possible opportunity. His prospects for escape were crushed when he saw the beautiful Soultorn a few cages down. The Soultorn, in black leather pants and wavy long hair, stood next to the manager, Pove, in obvious contrast. Prisoners lined up in front of their cells while Pove inspected them like livestock.

  Caleb glanced at the young woman standing in front of the cage next to him, Bubblegum, she said her name was the last time he asked. She shook her head as if she knew what he was thinking. He turned away, focusing on the guards by the front gate. He couldn’t resign himself to this fate.

  The Soultorn licked its perfect lips while perusing the inmates. If only it would come closer. He wondered if its neck would snap as easily as a turkey’s.

  The older inmate in front of Pove backed up against the bars of his cage. He acted as if he would rather be back inside. Then, with a wave of Pove’s hand, the guards escorted the man off toward the back of the warehouse.

  After several minutes, Pove and the Soultorn approached Caleb. The red-headed guard stood between Caleb and Bubblegum, awaiting orders.

  “What do I have here?” Pove asked.

  “Not much,” the guard said. ”A whore and possible guard. No traces of magic.”

  Caleb smoothed his features and tried to slow his racing heart. Just like hunting. He needed to stay calm and be smart, in order to make it out of here. He focused on the small ridge on the guard’s nose and imagined breaking it for a second time.

  Pove moved closer to inspect the girl. “Oh, come on. With a little cleanup, the right whore can make a good pull.” He turned his gaze to Caleb and looked him up and down, as if mentally checking off a shopping list. “Let’s clean up this one too. He may pull in a fair sum as a pet or Soultorn.”

  Caleb bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his rage in check. He wanted to attack this creature and didn’t care if he was killed in the process. Anything would be better than being a caged pet for the rest of his life.

  He remembered Rebecca. If there was even a slim chance of escape, he had to take it to find her. He registered the taste of blood and focused on keeping his mask in place.

  “I’ll take them to wardrobe, sir,” the guard answered, standing up straight and gripping Caleb’s arm.

  Before he could escort them off, another man, dark and lean, approached. “Excuse me, sir?”

  Pove’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Yes.”

  “Jeremiah has sent a man to discuss security.”

  “Again? I told him on the phone I had it handled.”

  The man lowered his eyes. “Do you want me to escort him out?”

  “And get hell from the coven?” Pove turned, heading back down the aisle. “No. I’ll deal with him.” His frustrated curses faded down the row.

  Could this be the same Jeremiah who landed him in this place? Rebecca’s uncle?

  The guard grabbed Caleb’s arm and motioned for Bubblegum to head down the row, away from the other cages. After a minute, only boxes and crates surrounded them. There was a guard and inmate up ahead, but Caleb could barely make them out.

  Bubblegum walked ahead of the men with a slow and purposeful sway to her hips, stealing all of the guard’s attention. He focused on her figure with a disturbing quiet. They soon found themselves alone, deep in the warehouse.

  Without hesitation, Caleb punched the guard in the nose. The guard didn’t have a chance to respond before Caleb’s next hit. He continued raining hits on the man, releasing the anger that had been building for days. His fist bled, or maybe that was the man. It didn’t matter. Caleb hoisted the guard up and slammed him into a wooded crate, his forearm pressed firm against the guard’s throat.

  Caleb ignored the bloody mess in front of him. “How do we get out of here? Which way?”

  The guard attempted to shake his head, but Caleb pressed harder. “There has to be a way.”

  “Caleb,” Bubblegum whispered his name in warning. “There’s no way out. Outside this building is an illusion with magical barriers we can’t even see. This isn’t a fight you’re going to win. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

  Caleb swore and kneed the man in the gut, letting him crumble to the ground. Anger poured out of Caleb, alive and burning to devour every wizard in the warehouse. Before he could kick the guard again, Caleb’s body froze.

  He fell onto the concrete with a sickening crack. The only thing he could see was a wooden crate. He tried to scream, to fight against the magic, but he couldn’t even move a finger.

  The clicking sound of high heels slowly approached.

  “What do we have here?” Pove reprimanded with a joyous overtone. “Looks like someone has forgotten the rules. Go ahead my pet.”

  The buzzing pain entered Caleb’s head. He arched back against his will, his screams echoing through the warehouse.

  Agony enveloped him while everything else faded away.

  Darion stared at the thick pale hand gripping a mysterious blue cocktail Nevada had mixed for him. Nevada’s gift was impressive. Darion appeared as a tall man with short brown hair and massive muscles. Life was never dull around Nevada.

  “I guess I should be grateful I don’t have red hair, or six fingers.” Darion sipped his drink, which was surprisingly good, and remembered Nevada’s many pranks as a teenager. Even the simple ones of adding a couple inches on the waist line of their crotchety tutor, so she would pass on sweets at every
meal.

  Nevada had been on the run for a couple years, staying just ahead of the coven’s grasp. Sometimes, Darion helped by passing along rumors and information. It was Nevada’s isolation and his detest of the coven which made Darion trust him.

  “So who’s the girl?” Nevada asked.

  Becca was downstairs, sleeping in an extra bedroom. Darion wished he could trap her there for a couple weeks while this all blew over. But he wasn’t the crazy kidnapping type, even if it meant her safety.

  “An old friend,” he replied.

  “Really?” Nevada didn’t try to conceal his disbelief. “Because I’ve known you for some time.”

  Darion lifted the glass to drink, avoiding an answer.

  “Where did she come from? I would remember someone with her power.”

  “You felt it?” Darion wasn’t sure if relief or surprise hit him first. He had felt something from Becca ever since they were at Lady Katherine’s home.

  “Of course. It’s strong.” Nevada was great at sensing other people’s power, not a true Profeo, but close.

  Part of the illusions, Darion always assumed. Those who created illusions could often see through them, perceiving others’ magic.

  “I wondered but was never sure.” It made sense, especially if her uncle was Jeremiah. Magic ran in families. He couldn’t have confronted Becca with his suspicions, though. She was the type to run, before stopping to figure things out.

  But now that he knew for sure, he had to tell her. “I don’t think she’d believe me, even if I told her.”

  “I thought you two were old friends.”

  “Things are complicated.” To say the least. Their relationship was teetering precariously. He had to be honest with her, but he wasn’t going to shove her off the edge. “Her powers were sealed until recently.”

  “Is she as naive as she sounds? That may pose problems at the market.”

  “Her power will tell others she’s as strong as she looks. I’ll be there to help.” A few magicians might confront Becca, push her even. But he could protect her. If he didn’t believe that, he would tie her up and go alone.