Dark Rising Trilogy

by DeAnna Browne

  “Where are those damn lights?” she muttered, following the wall around to the kitchen. Finally, she found the switch and flipped it on. She blinked several times, adjusting to the light.

  A man with long hair sat at the island. He held a type of thick gun in his hand. A short dark man, actually a Soultorn, stood behind him.

  She blinked again, wondering if this was still a dream.

  The guy took a swig from his flask. “So glad you could make it down on your own. It saves me the trouble.”

  Her heart raced with panic. Everyone else was asleep. How did they find them?

  The Soultorn winked. This wasn’t a social call.

  She turned to run, her mouth open to scream, but nothing came out.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Darion’s head pounded as he struggled to wake up. He briefly opened his eyes then snapped them shut. Panic struck him to the bone. He wasn’t at the cabin.

  That meant someone with enough strength broke into the cabin and grabbed him without even waking him. Darion couldn’t believe he could be so stupid. The call with Ryma and fight with Becca threw him for a loop. After not sleeping for several nights, he passed out last night without setting sufficient wards. He didn’t think he needed them.

  Before he opened his eyes, he pushed out with his magic. There was one other magician in the room. The wards were some of the strongest he’d ever encountered. He knew where he was. Darion wasn’t leaving soon.

  “Are you finally awake?” a deep voice spoke from across the room.

  No point in feigning sleep anymore. Darion sat up on a couch. A tall wizard Darion didn’t recognize stood on the other side of the room.

  “I’ll let Ryma know you’re awake,” the wizard said before leaving.

  A small ripple of magic flowed from the door, after he shut it. There was no getting out, especially if he was already at Ryma’s estate.

  Becca. The idea of her in the hands of other magicians sent his pulse racing. He had to find a way out. Darion rose on wobbly legs. He needed to get his blood moving.

  The room was a den of sorts, or small library. Books lined one wall, while large maps hung on the other. Pins marked the locations of major covens. And it looked like the Western War still raged on across the ocean.

  A massive desk filled up one corner. But it was sealed tight, containing its secrets inside. How did he get to Ryma’s? And why? Darion was planning on coming willingly tomorrow.

  There was no time to find out. He had to get the others. If Ryma broke the truce they agreed on, all bets could be off.

  Darion attempted to gather his magic, to push out at the wards around him, but his power was as slow to wake as the rest of his body. Closing his eyes, he searched for any other weakened exit in the room. He felt several exits, complicated with layers of magic. Not easily downed without help.

  Forget undoing wards, he’d burn down the door. He always had enough magic for a spark or two.

  He reached out around him, pulling in whatever potentia he could find. The door began to warm, and a wisp of smoke escaped. This was harder than it should be. He was only creating a sauna to roast himself in.

  The door opened without warning.

  Ryma looked the same as Darion remembered from the last time he saw him, at his parent’s funeral. He wasn’t tall, but the power that leaked from him gave off the feel of a giant. He had a heavy brow and protruding jaw but his shaved head, with a thick scar traveling down the side of it, stole most of the attention from his face.

  Darion heard he displayed it as a reminder he was not easily killed. Supposedly his brother, who was now dead, gave it to him.

  “Didn’t your parents teach you it was rude to burn down doors?” Ryma closed the door behind him and, surprisingly, didn’t look upset. Why should he?

  “Not as rude as kidnapping,” Darion countered.

  “You’re probably right.” Ryma went to the small stand with drinks. “The Stevenson’s weren’t happy that you decided to borrow their cabin without asking.”

  “They’ll get over it.” Darion didn’t care about the Stevensons. “I was going to come in willingly tomorrow. What was the hurry?”

  Ryma poured a couple of drinks, motioning Darion to a nearby chair. “You have to understand. You called me, thinking you had the upper hand, bargaining from a position of power.” After handing Darion a drink, Ryma took a seat, crossing his legs. “You’re young, so I’ll forgive you. But you need to know who has the power in this city. We’ll negotiate, but on my terms.”

  Ryma grinned, his face remaining pleasant. Even Darion, who was not gifted in reading people’s magic, could feel the power Ryma contained. He had probably a dozen or so demons in this house loyal to his command, nevertheless wizards and their demons that were loyal to him. This man had the fate of Becca resting in his hands. Darion best remember his manners. So he remained silent, waiting to hear exactly what Ryma wanted.

  “I heard you haven’t been playing nice lately,” Ryma continued.

  “When has being nice mattered?” Darion replied.

  “True, but we should always act civilized with our fellow coven members. From what I hear, you’ve been stealing from other magicians and burned down the market.” Ryma took a drink. “We have rules in this city to keep things running smoothly. We cannot let chaos take over. Hence I have to enforce the rules.”

  “I understand.” Darion had witnessed Ryma’s hand of justice since he was a child. Magicians wanted to claim that their justice and prosperity surpassed that of the age of the Mundane. That opinion varied on who you were. “I stole from Jeremiah, what he had stolen himself.”

  “As I understand, the girl is his niece,” he said. “Family overrides any claim you may place on her.”

  “But he killed her family. His own sister and brother-in-law. A family member like Jeremiah shouldn’t have a right to anything.”

  “They were living outside the coven’s protection. But they weren’t the only ones.” Ryma smiled, as if recalling a happy memory. “You should have seen him when I first discovered Jeremiah, stuck in a ragged home run by religious zealots that tried to beat the magic out of him. He was all too happy to kill his own parents to prove his faithfulness to me. Just be grateful, you’re not related to him.”

  He killed his own parents? Darion was disgusted, but not completely surprised. Becca didn’t belong to this man, her uncle.

  Ryma didn’t see it that way, though. And his was the only opinion that mattered here.

  “What of our deal? I was to join you willingly in exchange for my claim on the other three.” Darion had thought Ryma’s offer was sincere at the time. How stupid could he have been, to think Ryma would play fair? He didn’t count on Ryma locating him so easily. Now, he was bargaining for more than his life.

  “The two Mundanes are yours after the ceremony tonight. But you can’t claim Jeremiah’s niece.” Ryma looked down his thick nose at Darion, lecturing him on well-known rules.

  Darion sat up straight on the end of his chair, almost jumping up. “But he plans to kill her!”

  With a wave of Ryma’s hand, Darion was pushed back into the chair, his drink spilling slightly. “It’s best if we stay calm about these things.” Ryma reminded him. His eyes darkened in warning. “The girl is his niece, and, with no other family, he has the claim on her.”

  Darion wished he would have thought of marrying Becca earlier, anything to keep her safe and out of Jeremiah’s hands. They would have had to been married by Ryma, though. And she might prefer death than to be married to the coven. There had to be some way to convince Ryma.

  Darion took a sip of the expensive liquor. It warmed his throat and steadied his nerves. “I fear Jeremiah is planning a coup against you.” Jeremiah had almost told Darion exactly that when he worked on Elizabeth.

  Ryma’s brows raised in mock surprise. “Oh, so all of this is for my protection?”

  “No. But I found out that he has been grooming these two girls for years,
binding their magic. He has his sights on a level-six demon.” That had to concern Ryma. He was the only other magician in the city with the power to summon a level six.

  “I know about Jeremiah’s ambition. You’re a bit late for concern,” Ryma said. “We have reached our own agreement, part of which is he gets custody of his nieces. And I’ll help him raise his own level six demon.”

  Darion’s almost dropped his glass.

  Ryma leaned forward, an earnestness filling his face. “Don’t doubt my abilities. I’m not threatened by Jeremiah. I’m going to give him his own city to run. There is enough for all. Don’t you understand?”

  Darion nodded. Jeremiah didn’t want to replace the coven leader, but become his own. And Ryma was dumb enough to let him.

  “In a few hours, you will be joining the order,” he reminded him. “You’ll feel the power we wield. We’re stronger together. Stronger than you know.”

  You mean you’re stronger. Darion couldn’t imagine being tied to this group for the rest of his life. “And what if I don’t?” he had to ask.

  “I’ve been patient with you for years because of your parents. Their power and loyalty was without question.” Ryma glared at him, though a smile remained on his lips. “If you join without persuasion, you’ll keep the two Mundanes and your freedom in the city. If you don’t, then get comfy, because this will be your home for a while.”

  “Quite the choices you’ve laid out.”

  “I am truly sorry for your parents’ deaths. They were powerful allies.” The iced clinked in is glass as he finished his drink.

  Darion put his drink down on the table, unable to control the tremble in his hand. Allies. That’s all they were to him. They died on coven business, fighting demons on Ryma’s behalf.

  The ache of their deaths was ever present and always would be. And now, he was forced to join their murderer. There was no other answer he could give but yes.

  “I’ll pledge tonight.” He was going to be forced to join. At least this way he would have a better chance in protecting Becca.

  “Glad to hear it. I’ll have someone escort you to your rooms.” He stood, smoothing out his suit, and headed for the door. “You’ll come to find the coven is a brotherhood like no other.”

  Becca’s head pounded as if she was hung over. She rolled over and remembered the last few moments of conscious thought. Adrenaline shot through her body, and she struggled to keep her breath quiet. Where the hell was she?

  This is why magicians get a bad name. They never fight fair.

  Instead, she searched her surroundings. She lay on a mat in the corner of a large bedroom of sorts. Furniture was scattered around the room.

  A woman stood over a large table working on something. A heavy looking vase held a large bouquet of flowers nearby, perfect for smashing someone’s head in.

  “Don’t get up too fast or you’ll be sick. And I’m not cleaning up after you,” said the stocky lady with curly brown hair.

  Becca almost wanted to puke, just to piss the old broad off. Becca stood quietly and inched toward the vase. After two steps, she hit an invisible barrier and was thrown back. She shouted in pain and rubbed her head. “Thanks for the warning.”

  The woman looked over her shoulder. “Please. That’s the least of your concerns.”

  “Then what should I be concerned about after being kidnapped and trapped in an invisible cage?”

  The woman, whose eyes creased with age, glimmered with an evil light. “Tonight, dearie. Tonight.” She turned back to her work, ignoring any more of Becca’s questions and protests.

  Where were the others? How did anyone find them? Was this part of Darion’s deal? She stopped focusing on what she didn’t know and what she could do.

  Magic, idiot. Becca focused inward, searching for that strumming magic inside of her. For some reason, she struggled to gather the magic. It was slow, unresponsive.

  “What a surprise.” Jeremiah appeared by the door. “You’ve taken a magic lesson. You were always a resourceful girl.”

  Becca ignored her vile uncle. Her gaze was locked on her sister who hung calmly on his arm.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Caleb paced the confines of the magical cage while Grace sat on the concrete floor, picking at her nails. He could feel the electricity and heat coming off the shield when he got too close. Four steps, then turn. Four steps, then turn. One zap was enough for him to know he didn’t want to do it again.

  There were trapped in an invisible barrier inside of an old bedroom that was small and simple, stripped of decorations. A single bed covered only in plastic lay centered against the wall. There were two doors, one that opened to a bathroom, the other shut tight, and a drain in the center of the floor.

  The drain disturbed him the most. “Stop wearing yourself out.” Grace looked up at him. “They’ll unlock us at some point. They better before my bladder explodes.”

  Maybe that’s what the drain is for? “How can you be sure we’re at Ryma’s?”

  “Trust me on this one. I’ve been here before. He has a knack for decorating.”

  “And you’re okay with this?”

  An iciness spread over her features, smoothing out her skin and pulling her lips into a wicked grin. “I’m one step closer to killing Jaq. So, yes. Wasn’t this the plan? To make it to Ryma’s?”

  “Not exactly.” He pulled at his hair in frustration. He itched to have a weapon, a bow or rifle was his preference but he’d take a steak knife right now. “Where’s Rebecca, do you think?”

  “You forget Becca’s in a different class than us. As a witch, she gets the five-star treatment.”

  He couldn’t help the guttural sound that came out of him.

  Muffled voices traveled through the door. He couldn’t wait to tear into whoever was out there.

  “Play dead,” Grace ordered as she rose to her feet and undid the top couple of buttons on her blouse.

  “What? No.” He wasn’t going to let Grace fight this alone.

  “Cut the chivalry. I’ll get the guard to drop the shield, and you kill him. Got it?”

  “That I can do.” He dropped to the floor, relaxing his body and slowing his breath. It was harder to do than he thought when he wanted to fight someone.

  “About time you came in. I’m bored as hell.” Her voice had a light air to it. He remembered it from when he first met her at the market.

  “Not my problem.” The gruff voice didn’t sound terribly interested.

  “No. But maybe you could help me think of a solution.”

  Silence. Caleb kept his breaths shallow and slow.

  “What’s that guy’s deal?” the man asked.

  “Dunno. He’s been out since I woke up. But I’d appreciate a different cell. I think he’s pissed himself.”

  “If I open your cell, you may not like what’ll happen.” The man’s voice was husky now.

  “It has to be better than this.” Grace’s playful tone bristled against Caleb. He knew it was an act, but she was good at it.

  It took another minute until Caleb felt the electricity near his legs vanish. The shields were down. He knew better than to move right away. Caleb had hunted enough to learn not to scare away the prey.

  “You’re all man, aren’t you?” Grace said. Her light laughter sickened Caleb.

  It took all he had to remain still. The flirting soon died, and he dared to crack his eyes. He heard the plastic on the bed and took it as his cue.

  He silently stood, moving to the bed. The meaty man with short dark hair pinned Grace down. He forced his mouth on hers while his meaty hand ran up her thigh.

  Red flashed before Caleb’s eyes, and, without a second thought, he attacked. With an unknown fury, he grabbed the man’s head and yanked it at an unnatural angle.

  There was a sickening crack, and it was over.

  The man slumped down, and Grace pushed him off the bed. Caleb stumbled back against the wall, his heart pounding in his ears. He’d killed a man with h
is bare hands.

  He shook uncontrollably. He thought he should feel something, remorse, guilt maybe. But he didn’t. Granted he had killed before with his bow and had snapped the neck of an injured doe once. But this was a human.

  Grace straightened her clothes and smoothed out her hair. “You okay there, muscles?”

  He nodded, unable to put into words what he was feeling. He rubbed his hands. A numbness traveled through them.

  She went to the bathroom for a moment. It gave him a chance to shake off what just happened. Returning fresh faced, she had an enthusiasm that unnerved him. “I’m going to head out for a while. I’ll head to the garage if I make it out.”

  “You know you don’t have to go through with it.”

  She flashed him an empty smile, but he could see her thoughts racing behind her pretty eyes.

  Caleb met her at the door and grabbed her hand. “Please stay. Why can’t we go together? I can help you, just like now.” Even though this last encounter felt like luck more than anything else, he couldn’t imagine her facing a wizard and walking away.

  “I have to do this alone.”

  “Why?”

  She stepped into him, looking even smaller than before. So easily over powered. He didn’t want to let her leave, but he knew he wouldn’t force her to do anything. She had lived with enough of that in her life.

  She placed a soft hand on his cheek. “I don’t think you’re strong enough for this kind of work. Thanks for everything, muscles. It’s been one hell of a ride.” Then pulling him down, she kissed him.

  Short, but intense—just like Grace.

  She was out the door before he could say another word. His lips tingled where she pressed against him. Her lavender perfume carried in the air. He had known her for such a short time, but had grown to care for her more than he realized.

  He punched the door and welcomed the pain. He hated feeling helpless while those he cared about faced death.

  Grace walked through the estate undisturbed. Funny how even the most dedicated service man let her pass. Some recognized her and must have assumed she was working again for a new owner. With the men, a slight touch of her hand or an innocent catch of breath worked wonders. That was what parents should really teach their daughters.