Dark Rising Trilogy

by DeAnna Browne

  Becca glowered in her direction. Good thing Becca wasn’t a pyro, Darion thought, her temper was fiery enough. Maybe that was why he liked her.

  Caleb squeezed her shoulder before leaving. “Good luck.”

  The fire grew slightly behind the grate. Darion calmed it down with a wave of his hand. Becca turned to face him. Her jaw tightened and her hands were clenched in front of her, as if she was readying herself for some kind of torture.

  He couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. “You ready?”

  After a quick breakfast and change of clothes, Becca headed downstairs to meet Darion. She’d located some dark sweats and a long-sleeved shirt in a boys room, more comfortable than the dress, but a bit short on her.

  She found Darion back in the front of the fire, a large book spread out on his lap.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  The old book had a leather cover worn with age and lined with gold. “A grimoire. Thankfully, I found a copy in their library. Most families own one.”

  “A what?”

  “A book of magic. A bible of sorts for black magic.”

  “Right, black magic. Of course.”

  “This explains a lot of the basics of magic. Where we get our power from, how to build basic pentagrams.”

  “Pentagrams—” Becca sounded idiotic, repeating everything he said. She was just struggling as magic was becoming her reality.

  He set the book aside. “Do you remember at the market when you felt your magic?”

  “I honestly thought I was going to die, not do magic.” A cold realization poured over her. She was a magician. This monster lived inside of her, screaming to get out. Maybe it would have been better if she would have died back there. No, not with Elizabeth held by Jeremiah.

  He brushed a hand through his hair. “Magic emerges gradually as a child ages. By five, most parents know if their child carries any magic. But it’s uncontrollable. Wizards come into their full power by their teens. Some settle in nicely. Others lash out like you did. A power raw and uncontrolled. My coming of age was a bit of a nightmare.” A briefed sadness touched his eyes.

  Becca wanted to ask, but he continued on.

  “There is much about magic we don’t know. But most magicians focus on how to manipulate it, and how to get more.

  “Figures,” she mumbled.

  He ignored her and added another piece of wood to the fire. He took off his long dark jacket and settled back down.

  “Many magicians have an affinity for a certain type of magic. They go with the pentagram. Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit.” He flicked a hand and the fire soared, proving his point. “Not all are obvious. But my guess, after the display in the market, would be that yours is Spirit.”

  “Spirit?” Her jaw was slack. “What does that mean?”

  “Your talents lean toward controlling the demons, Soultorns. The Soultorn in the market was extremely powerful. Only one with great power for Spirit work, could command that.”

  She turned her gaze to the fire. It was like being told that, not only were you inherently evil, but you have a power that called on the devils of hell themselves. It wasn’t comforting.

  “Demon work is extremely difficult and complex,” he continued. “You have to gauge the power of the demon, the host, create the pentagram—”

  “I’m not conjuring a demon.” Fear coursed through her body, like ice water. The idea of calling and controlling a tool so evil was revolting.

  “I’m not expecting you to conjure a greater demon. Even if you had the power, you aren’t practiced enough. But if you want to stand a chance, you need—”

  She stood up. “I. Am. Not. Conjuring. A. Demon.”

  “If you want to save your sister, you will.” His brows were tight with frustration, though his words were soft.

  There it was. If she wanted a chance at saving Elizabeth, she would have to dance with the devil. Despite her protests, they both knew she would do it.

  He handed the book to Becca. “This is The Lesser Key of Solomon. Read it.”

  The book was heavy in her hand. “Solomon as in the Bible?”

  “Known as one of the first magicians. He taught us much about magic, before the portal was even opened. Now that the portal’s open, we have the power to fuel the magic.”

  “That must have been left out of my mother’s Bible study.” She sat down and opened the book. Diagrams and small text littered the page.

  “I’m betting a lot of stuff was left out.” He stood next to her. A smoky smell clung to his clothes.

  “Is there anything about dreams in here?” Becca said, remembering last night’s dream. It was so lifelike, it scared her.

  “Some, why?”

  “Lately, my dreams have been really intense. They’re mostly about my sister, but they’re just…different.” She felt awkward talking about it. Of course she would dream of her sister. She had been on Becca’s mind nonstop.

  “There can be magic in dreams. Seers often use their dreams to interpret the future.” He pointed to the book. “I don’t know much about dreams or seers. They usually didn’t train with other wizards. Check out the book and see what it says.”

  She nodded. Maybe it was all in her mind, reliving the nightmares in her past.

  Darion didn’t press her. “It’ll explain a lot, and I can fill in the blanks.”

  She read the first line. “‘The Book of Theurgia Goetia from Solomon the King. Translated into the English tongue by a dead hand.’” That’s not creepy at all.

  “I’m going to gather supplies and be back in a bit. Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He left, the door clicking shut. The room felt unnaturally quiet, only the soft crackle of fire filled the air.

  She continued on to chapter one. An index of known demons: King Bael, Duke Aguares, Prince Barbas, President Pruflas, Marquis/Count Amon…

  The list went on, accompanied with pictures, descriptions, and their preferences in destruction. Reading through the names and imagining demons waiting to be called, she no longer desired a nap, or wished to close her eyes at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dry leaves crunched loudly with Elizabeth’s every for step. Her heart pounded in her chest, loud enough the birds to hear. She hid behind a tree on Jeremiah’s estate. Barreling through the forest like a pig wasn’t going to help anyone. Blood trickled down her stockings. She must have cut her leg on the window sill. She glanced behind her, hoping there wasn’t a trail.

  Idiot. Might as well paint them a sign.

  Sitting down, she used her long skirt to mop up the blood on her leg. She needed to calm down and think. She didn’t know where she was, where she could go, or what to do. Every nerve was on end, pushing her forward, to run, to get free. But running into the wilderness, to get picked off by city urchins, wasn’t going to help her.

  She scanned the horizon for any sign of life. A neighbor maybe? There was nothing but hills and trees. Without food or water, she wasn’t going to last long out there.

  Her sister had always loved the woods, but Elizabeth hated fishing or hunting when her father took her.

  There were a couple of cars in the garage. She had only driven her father’s tractor twice, but she understood the concept. And while she didn’t love the idea, it was the fastest way out of here.

  She checked the back of the house, no sign of anyone. “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. Then with a deep breath, she took off. Her hair whipped in the wind, as clouds rumbled overhead, threatening a storm.

  She slipped inside the garage, panting slightly. Silence filled the dim room. It held two different vehicles: a dark sedan, and an older truck. The doors were locked.

  Keys. I need keys.

  She flipped on the overhead light. She was worried about it drawing attention, but she would have no chance finding the keys in the dark. She hurried to a nearby workbench and began searching. She dug through old tools. Grabbed a screwdriver thinking mayb
e it could break into the vehicle if needed. Her thoughts became more and more panicked.

  Maybe she should have just run for the woods. It was cold, but the first freeze hadn’t come yet. She could survive for some time. But not without water.

  She tipped over an empty can, and nails rolled across the metal work bench. Above her head, hanging on a nail were two sets of keys. On tip toes, she grabbed the keys and rushed around the car to the driver side. The first key slid in effortlessly with a click.

  “Leaving the party so soon?” It was one of the guards, the one with a tattoo on the back of his neck. He said something else, but it was too quiet for Elizabeth to hear.

  The next moment her hands froze in place, along with all of her limbs. She tried to scream, but couldn’t form the words.

  Magic. What was her uncle doing with magical guards? Maybe that dream held more truth than she wanted to believe. Horror flooded her body as she struggled against the invisible restraints.

  He strode over and plucked the keys out of her hands.

  He leaned toward her, his breath hot on her throat. “You know little birds don’t do well outside of their cages. Especially one smelling so nice.”

  He traced a finger up the side of her throat.

  She wanted to scream, to cry and rage against the invisible shackles this man had placed on her. Instead, she was silenced, a prisoner in a body that she no longer controlled.

  The next morning, Becca struggled to get out of bed. She’d slept fitfully with dreams of being chased. It took a couple minutes to shake off the fear, but she was determined to work.

  Yesterday hadn’t been much better. The day had gone by in a blur of reading about demons, spells, Greek and Latin. Demon names swirled around her head. She only remembered Solomon who was a dirt-bag with too many wives. There were ceremonies, spells, commands, seals, but she never would be able to keep them all straight. Darion had talked through her questions and issues. But they put off actually using magic, until today.

  She took a long shower, trying to prolong the inevitable. She tied her wet hair up in a bun and wore a robe while scrounging through the closets for some clothes.

  Grace appeared in a doorway. “I’d try the room next to the bathroom. She has a lot of clothes, but they may be a bit tight on you,” she said, looking her up and down. Then with her full lips painted bright pink, she flashed a sly smile and disappeared.

  “Thanks.” Becca should have looked harder yesterday for the girl’s room. She might have a chance of something fitting her, despite what Grace said.

  In the next room, she did find a pair of jeans that sort of fit and gray shirt. It the back of the closet was a worn jean jacket. The shoes were too big, but with a couple pairs of socks, they worked. Dressed, she headed downstairs, the smell of coffee calling out to her.

  “Hey, stranger.” Caleb sat at the kitchen table with a mug and tin can of peaches. He wore khaki pants and a dark blue shirt that clung to his chest. He even had hiking boots and a knife strapped to his side.

  “Hey,” she mumbled and reached for a mug. “Going somewhere?”

  “Just heading outside for a bit of hunting.”

  “Going stir crazy already?” She smiled, remembering Caleb as a boy, who often fell asleep outside during the summer and would drive his parents crazy looking for him. His hair still had that same wave to it around his ears.

  “A bit.” He took a drink. “Just want to stretch my legs and maybe find something fresh to eat.”

  She stirred in some sugar. “I’m a bit jealous.”

  “Want to skip school for a bit and go outside?” His wide grin reminded her of when they were teens and skipping chores. He winked. “We haven’t gone hunting together for a long time.”

  She couldn’t help the smile growing on her face. Last time he tried to teach her the bow, she almost killed their family pig. She preferred a rifle. Either way she always enjoyed her time with Caleb. They could be silent for hours at a time out in the woods, a comfortable silence she’d never found with anyone else. “I miss those days, without the city or magicians.”

  “Maybe we can get them back one day.”

  “Maybe. But today I need to work inside.” They only had three days left, and she had a lot to learn.

  “I get it.”

  He put his dishes in the sink and then brushed past her on the way out. His tender touch made her miss him already, as he headed out back without another look.

  “Be safe,” she said to the quiet kitchen as he headed across the backyard. How many times had she watched him walk home? Or out into the woods? She’d always taken it for granted that he would come back.

  Becca swallowed some canned pears for breakfast, grabbed some coffee, and then searched for Darion.

  With his hair still damp, he sat in front of the fire. He wore a tight black shirt and his same tan slacks. His back was to her as his hand reached out the fire. With a flick of his hand, the flames danced around, as if to invisible music. It was mesmerizing and artistic almost. Then in a second, they were gone.

  “Ready?” he said, without turning his head.

  “Can magicians see out of the back of their heads? Am I missing out on that trick?”

  “No. But since you unleashed your power, you’re easier to sense. Or maybe it’s how you slurp your coffee.”

  “I don’t slurp,” she said indignantly.

  “Whatever you say.” He raised a hand in defeat. “Let’s get to work.”

  She noticed an array of salts, potions, and small bowls that looked like something out of an alchemy shop.

  He motioned for her to take a seat across from him and offered his hands, palms open. “Take my hands.”

  Becca perched on the edge of the seat, her pulse picking up. “What will happen?”

  “Really? You don’t trust me already?” He grinned. “Just take my hands. I’m going to gather my power, and if we’re connected, you can feel it.”

  “Connected?”

  “There are many ways to connect to another magician or demon. Blood, intimacy, a piece of another person.”

  He must have seen the disgust on Becca’s face because he quickly clarified.

  “A piece of hair or nail. They all form a connection if the spell is done right.”

  “We have touched before.” They had done more than touching. The memories brought a warmth to her face.

  “This will be different. Your magic is awake, and I’ll use a spell to connect us as long as we are touching. There are limits and benefits to every type of combining. This will help you learn to sense magic and focus it.”

  She set down her coffee and leaned forward, carefully placing her hands in his. He gripped them and then said the spell. Only a few words, but the effect was immediate. A hot current pushed through her arms. Reflexively, she tried to let go.

  He clasped her hands tight. “It won’t hurt.” He scrutinized her, as if reading something that wasn’t there.

  She closed her eyes and remembered to breathe. It was less intense than staring at him. Slowly, the current lessened. She didn’t think it changed, but her body grew accustomed to it.

  This was Darion’s magic, warm and electric. Like a live wire, it trailed down her spine and to her toes, as if searching, exploring. It curled in her stomach, and she felt herself flush.

  Another deep breath. A hum originated from deep within vibrating softly at first. It traveled down her fingertips then down her back, as if matching the current. Soft at first, it grew, strumming loudly.

  Her eyes snapped open. It was magic. Her magic.

  “You feel it?” Darion asked. His face was ablaze, full of excitement.

  She nodded, unable to put into words what she felt. His magic was a part of her, consuming her. If felt intimate, more so than any of the kisses they shared before.

  Her pulse pounded, matching the beating of his heart. She could feel his heart, almost picture it thumping. Her magic poured into him, flowing into to every corner and nook, re
lishing his warmth and power.

  “Exhilarating, isn’t it?” he asked.

  She nodded. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, like running the fastest mile, and knowing she had the strength to do it again.

  “Our power is combined. We’re stronger together.”

  “Is it like this with every magician?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve only been connected to a few people. And every person is different, their magic feels different. Most protect themselves while connected, create walls and barriers. Not many magicians trust each other to share everything and be so vulnerable. ”

  “So, I’m doing it wrong.” Panic fluttered in her chest.

  “Not at all. You’re just very open right now. I’m leaving myself open as well. I can feel…everything.” He took a jagged breath. “I’ll teach you barriers later. First, I need to teach you how to gather your magic. Pay attention.”

  He focused on his hands. Then his warmth, his magic, withdrew from her, stripping its heat like pulling off a warm blanket. Her body protested. She scooted closer, trying to follow it.

  “Use your magic,” he prompted.

  She closed her eyes, trying to push herself toward him.

  “Not with your body, use your magic.”

  She realized their knees were touching. Embarrassed she scooted back and tried again. Her fingertips sizzled, his magic nipping at them.

  She focused on the sensation. Then as it traveled into him, she followed. In the core of his being, she found his magic. Intense waves of heat and pressure, building, the power overwhelming.

  “Yes,” Darion murmured. “Gather your energy. Imagine winding up to throw a ball. Put all your energy toward the target.”

  Darion spoke in a foreign language. A rush of power and energy raced out of her. The power touched every part of her body, every nerve ending coming alive with potential. In an instance, the fire roared to life, the heat almost burning her. She turned to find a dragon shaped emerging from the flames.

  Darion gripped her hands. The small dragon flew around the room, swerving between lamp posts and couches. She ducked to avoid the fiery tail. Sparks jumped off the dragon but vanished before hitting the ground. The dragon’s roar echoed off the walls while fire shot from its mouth. Becca wavered between peeing her pants and amazement. The dragon dove back into the brick fireplace.