The war had ended with the swift force of the Demon Queen, yet the repercussions would last for lifetimes. The Queen gave Becca some space to spend with her people. From their connection, Becca gathered the Queen also wanted to mourn the deaths of those she loved and save those she could.
Becca gave her privacy and joined the others, sharing their own grief. The rebels had taken over a large building and created a makeshift hospital. She buried her pain at those they lost and focused on helping where she could.
At one point, Scarlett pulled Becca aside and drilled her over the encounter and her connection with the Demon Queen. Becca did her best to explain what happened, but she wasn’t sure of anything going forward. How could anyone know what came next?
The Queen wanted her people free of the magicians of this world. If that took days, weeks, or months, Becca would help. And enforcing this law of not using demons any longer would take the efforts of Scarlett and many others. People would still have magic, the open portal made sure of it, but it would never be as strong again. They would figure this out, but not today. Becca didn’t have it in her.
When Scarlett was called away, Becca took it as a blessing and decided to make herself scarce. She weaved through the crowded room, full of injured people, and avoided eye contact with everyone. Guilt ate at her, even though she knew she had done all she could. Ignoring the whispers that followed her, she headed for the elevator. With her newfound power, she easily found Darion’s consciousness and told him to meet her on the roof.
Running away? Elizabeth spoke inside her mind.
Just needed some fresh air.
Do you mind company?
Once on the elevator, Becca paused, holding the door open. Elizabeth soon appeared, her dress stained with dirt and blood. Her red rimmed eyes broke Becca’s heart.
“Did you need a break too?” Becca asked.
Elizabeth nodded and stepped inside the elevator. “Most of the injured are stable. There are several more qualified people dealing with the other cases.”
The sisters rode up in silence. They could have shared thoughts, but they didn’t need to. The overwhelming ache and sorrow from Elizabeth mirrored Becca’s own emotions. Yes, they won the war, but were never prepared for the cost.
Arriving at the top floor, Becca easily opened the locked door, and they stepped onto the roof. A plethora of stars blanketed the night sky, and as she looked up, the tightness in her chest eased. She had been scared to relax, worried that if she did, something bad would happen. But now in the quiet of the night, she began believing that it was truly over. Lazaro was gone.
Elizabeth walked to the edge of the roof. After a few deep breaths, Becca joined her. They looked over the small town and surrounding woods, which now lay in ruins from the fight. Few buildings stood unmarred. Such destruction, and this wasn’t even half of it. Countless lives in countless cities have been irrevocably destroyed, all because of one man.
The door opened behind them, and Darion and Caleb walked out onto the roof to join them. Becca had felt them since they stepped on the elevator, their presence growing as they approached. Even though she now had the power to pluck emotions or thoughts from their minds with ease, she gave them their privacy.
Darion placed a kiss on her head and remained beside her. Caleb leaned against the short wall next to Elizabeth and gazed into the night.
“I can’t believe Andre’s gone.” Elizabeth stared straight ahead, emotion tightening her voice. “Why couldn’t I have seen that earlier? Why couldn’t I stop it?”
Becca had wanted to spare her sister from the war. But even while Elizabeth wasn’t in battle, she had probably seen more than anyone else and would continue to relive it. Becca would talk to Scarlett or maybe the Queen to see how she could help calm her sister’s mind.
“No.” Elizabeth turned to face the others.
Becca didn’t realize she’d left her thoughts open to her sister.
“Why not?” Becca asked.
The wind picked up, and Elizabeth’s blonde hair danced in the night air. “We need to remember. Remember the pain, the death, the hurt, and destruction that took place here. Otherwise it will have been for nothing.”
Caleb placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“She’s right.” Darion grasped Becca’s hand. “I grew up in Lazaro’s twisted world, thinking that those with power had the right to do as they wish. When in fact, it was the wizards that destroyed all of this.”
Using her newfound powers, she pushed her love and admiration for Darion into his mind. Even without reading his thoughts, she knew he was plagued by guilt from previous actions and the life he was forced into. She now wanted him to know, to see himself as she saw him.
He turned to her. His eyes full of tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.
He opened himself to her, his emotion and love overwhelming. She had worried about their bond again after her agreement with the Demon Queen, but it was stronger than ever.
His love helped soften the ache in her chest. She didn’t know if it would ever go away, but it helped to know she wasn’t alone. They lost great people, but their deaths needed to be taken as reminders to continue fighting for a better future.
Caleb’s train of thought must have been along the same lines as her own. “How do we know this time will be different, even if we remember it?”
“We don’t.” Becca realized the stark truth of that statement and the implications hit her hard. She would never have chosen this path, and she didn’t want it now, but she knew there were few others to do it. “We’ll have to keep them in line. The Queen expects me to help search for her people, and those humans she leaves behind need to know they will be watched. We can’t let this happen again.”
The seconds ticked by while everyone processed this.
“So, mango farming is out then?” Darion had a solemn expression with his joke. A sadness that Becca understood.
She shrugged, saying goodbye to a life of peace and quiet. As much as she always wanted one, she knew it wasn’t on the cards. “Sorry. I can’t.”
“You won’t be alone.” Caleb turned to her. Her best friend that remained at her side despite the consequences.
“I can’t expect any of you—”
“You can’t expect us to stay behind either.” Elizabeth straightened up with a strength that could only be borne through tribulation.
“Someone has to keep you in line,” Darion added with a playful nudge.
Becca exhaled a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. She didn’t want to count on them, but she had. Searching their faces, she knew they were sincere. And knowing she didn’t have to do it alone, made it all the better. They were safe, and whatever the future held, they would face it together.
END OF BOOK THREE
Thank you for reading the Dark Rising Trilogy. If you’re looking for more reads from DeAnna, keep reading for a peek into her Young Adult Sci-Fiction Romance, HOOKED, now available at AMAZON.
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And for something with a dark twist, check out
DROWNING IN DARKNESS
BY D. BROWNE & DAVE BENNEMAN
Once seven friends...
now they were six.
Forever changed by one night.
For the next twenty years, these friends each try to escape the events of that night, but they can’t run far or fast enough to evade the demons that haunt them. Looking for answers, they reunite for a funeral, bringing their demons with them. From tragic accidents, to enduring psychiatric visits and visions of the dead, the remaining six must share the secrets they’ve kept hidden to
uncover the truth beneath the nightmare. Who has the courage to face the past and who will take their secrets to the grave?
Available now at Amazon.
Evil Etched in Gold
A Dark Rising Short Story
Evil Etched in Gold
Standing in the grandiose foyer lined with marble and etched in magic and gold, Nevada hoped this was the start of the rest of his life. The rich pricks at school had always spoken of the coven’s wealth, but he’d never believed them. As he looked around the mansion that had a foyer almost as big as his house, he struggled to keep his jaw closed. He needed to keep his cool. No sense in letting them think they had made the wrong choice.
An older man in an expensive dark suit appeared at his side. “My lord will see you now.” The man motioned for him to follow.
Nevada followed the attendant down the hall. Straightening his blue double-breasted blazer, Nevada quickly changed the color of his tie once again. Colors shifted, turning to a lime-green plaid. Figuring those who invited him would want to know who they were dealing with, he didn’t use his illusionary magic to alter his physical appearance, just his accessories. He kept his black hair short, and his skin maintained its usual dark shade. He made an exception for his ears. They were so hideous, so he had permanently altered them years ago.
The attendant turned down a long corridor lined in exquisite paintings of old−sceneries from abroad, a field of flowers, a nude of a plump woman, even a Monet, which looked like an original. His mother had loved following art. At the memory of her, his throat tightened. She would have loved his gift, considering it took art to the next level. He quickly stuffed down the memory with every step. This had to go right, or he would be stuck with his father for eternity. This was more than an opportunity; it was a chance at a real life.
“How long has Ryma owned this property?” He aimed his question to the attendant, who kept a steady pace.
The slim older fellow didn’t bother turning around. “If you have any questions about my lord, I’d direct you to ask him.”
My lord? That must be one hell of an ego trip. Was he expected to call Ryma that? He’d heard some of the royalty from Europe had brought over the old customs. Not that it mattered to him. Nevada would call him the Purple Prince of Egypt if it meant a good job.
They stopped at a dark door, and the attendant gave a short knock.
A strong voice came from within. “Enter.”
The old man opened the door for him, and Nevada didn’t miss the sly smile twisting the attendant’s lips. Nevada nodded. His gut clenched, making him wonder if this man knew something he didn’t.
The door opened into a large, nearly empty library. While the walls were lined with old books, the rest of the dim room was sparse. A desk sat in the corner. A few leather chairs and a drink cart stood beside it. In the room’s center, a silver drain glimmered in the eerie light emanating from the sconces on the wall. Nevada repressed a shiver.
Ryma sat in one of the chairs, a drink in hand. “Nevada. So glad you could make it.” He remained sitting and offered Nevada the other seat.
Ryma was as Nevada had imagined, like some Middle Eastern prince with bad taste in rich clothes. His thick brows and protruding jaw were more intimidating than attractive. And the long scar traveling across his bald head and down his temple caused Nevada to pause, struggling to hide the spurt of disgust sparked by the knotted tissue.
He sat down, and Ryma passed him a drink. The expensive brandy had a rich flavor that went down easy. Nevada could get used to this. His father, a weak wizard, only bought cheap vodka, which tasted like cat piss.
“I hear you are quite an extraordinary illusionist. How was your training?” Ryma swirled the glass in his hand.
Nevada could have regurgitated his school scores, but Ryma would already have that information. Instead, he harnessed his power and felt a wave of magic transform his body.
Ryma blinked repeatedly as Nevada transformed, and soon, Ryma was staring into a mirror image of himself down to the perfectly shined shoes. His metamorphosis was flawless and left Nevada more drained than he’d wanted. But it was impressive, a truth proven by Ryma’s silence.
Ryma leaned forward, examining Nevada’s illusion closely. “Can you do this on others too?”
“It takes more power.” He’d only acquired enough power by killing a couple of lower-level demons during his efforts. His teacher had given him hell for that.
“There are not many with your talent for illusions on people. Environmental, sure. It’s easy to paint a picture. But the human body, it’s more complex than most realize.”
Nevada agreed. His illusions were similar to paintings, with hundreds of muscles, bones, and sinews to perfect.
Ryma stood and placed his glass on a tray next to him. “Then we will proceed with the ceremony.”
Right now? Nevada bit down his response and transformed back to himself. “I’m ready to commit to the coven if that’s what you mean.”
“Good. We don’t have time to wait for the next coven meeting, unfortunately. We’ll do the ceremony today.”
“Today?” Shock reverberated through his body. To join a coven, one needed the thirteen members and a blood ceremony binding the new member. Even when inducting a minor member, there was a particular way of doing things. Nevada may have slept through school sometimes, but he remembered that fact.
“Yes. Now, actually. Since the deaths of the Robertses, I don’t have time to appear weak to outside forces. The Kithrowan coven is trying to steal our prominent members, sabotaging me at every turn. I need spies yesterday.” Ryma stood over him, his piercing gaze steady. “I need your blood oath today to help secure our borders. It will put you on the fast track to the coven leadership.”
Nevada calmed his features, something he’d had years of practice doing, while a chaotic mess of apprehension and excitement churned in his gut.
“And I’ve even got a treat for you.” Ryma motioned to a dark corner of the room. “Come forward,” he ordered. A surge of magic left the man’s hand as he waved someone forward.
Nevada stood, hoping for a higher-level demon. Summoning names were scarce, usually handed down from family or bought at a price. His drunken father had quickly sold theirs as soon as Nevada’s mother died.
He got to his feet and joined Ryma in the center of the room, near the silver drain. Shadows covered the floor, old stains of past ceremonies. Across the room, a young woman stepped forward. She wore a simple black dress falling off one shoulder. Her familiar tanned skin and almond eyes hit his stomach like a fiery poker, knotting his guts into a painful tangle. And that smile… He could pick out that smile anywhere, especially when she laughed.
“A servant for me?” Nevada hoped.
“No, a Soultorn. I have a level-three demon name for you, a gift. It can serve you while you’re on the road and be a strength.”
Ryma’s confident look made Nevada wonder if the man knew the connection between him and the girl. But there was no way he could. No one would know, probably not even the girl. Nevada had watched her through his windows for hours—a neighbor, a pretty girl he’d never had the courage to speak to.
“Thank you,” he managed to spit out, unsure how he was going to go through with this.
“What’s your hesitation?” Ryma’s brows gathered. “Surely, you’ve learned this in school?”
Nevada nodded, not trusting his voice. The woman faced them like an empty vessel, spelled to be silent and obedient. Her bare face held a raw beauty that made his heart ache. She’d always held a free-spirited happiness that was contagious for a young, lonely boy.
Nevada shook off the memories. “There’s no problem. I can do it.” His mask remained in place while his conscious screamed in rebellion. Unfortunately, his conscious didn’t pay the bills.
A knock sounded on the door, and on Ryma’s cue, a servant entered, pushing a small cart.
“Our preparations,” Ryma said.
The servant
paused. “My lord?”
“What?”
“A phone call. I tried to put him off, but as an advisor, he demands to speak to you.”
“Of course. Two members die, and everyone is fighting over who will take their place.” He rolled his eyes but kept his smile as though the bickering amused him.
Nevada was surprised at how casually Ryma mentioned the deaths of the Robertses. The Robertses’ son was a few years younger but had attended the same school as Nevada. Their deaths had rocked the coven as they were the first prominent casualties since the war.
“Start the pentagram,” Ryma instructed Nevada. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Then he left with the servant.
The door clicked shut, leaving Nevada and Alise staring at each other. “Alise.” He said her name to see if she would respond.
Nothing. Her empty eyes focused straight ahead.
He shouldn’t have said her name. It only stirred up more memories. He avoided looking at her and grabbed the chalk.
“Forget it,” he told himself, pushing back the guilt. All he had to do was make a Soultorn, then he could go. He would have it made—a steady income and his own place.
He stepped back, chalk in hand, and looked at the perfectly drawn pentagram. Who was he kidding? It was crazy to work for a man who made people call him “my lord” and killed others without hesitation. Ryma’s reputation of rising to coven leader was impressive if people didn’t mind the fact that he’d killed his own brother for the job.
Going against everything he’d been taught, Nevada stepped toward Alise. It felt like the times his teacher had told him to never name pets before they were killed. He always had. Everything deserved a name for their sacrifice.
He walked toward her, jamming his hands in his pockets to keep them still. Not sure what spell Ryma had cast on her, Nevada caught the smell of rosemary.
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