The Dark World

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  “Yeah, Dad, it’s me,” I called, reminding myself that he’d actually been accommodating this morning. I pushed open the door, expecting to see my parents rushing around to get ready for their date night.

  Instead, they were sitting in their go-to date night clothes on the navy couch, my mom’s phone clutched tightly in her freshly manicured hand.

  “What’s going on?” I asked suspiciously, throwing my keys back into my purse.

  “Sit down, Paige,” my mom said gently, and I perched awkwardly on the end of the blue-striped armchair opposite them, sliding out of my coat and letting it pool around me as I did my best to keep a poker face. Meanwhile, my mind was racing. They saw you on the roof.

  “Am I in trouble?” I asked, spinning my bracelet around my wrist. “I’m home pretty early.”

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” Dad said, and I relaxed, sinking back into the armchair.

  “Don’t do that to me, you guys!” I cried, slapping my palms against the seat cushion. But my parents didn’t laugh.

  “We got an email from the school. It turns out a classmate of yours was killed in the fire at your school yesterday,” my mom said. “Did you know Travis Moore?”

  I wasn’t sure how to sound. Horrified? Inconsolable? What was the accurate response to have? The aftermath of Travis’s death sank in—not only had I watched him die, but I was going to have to act like I wasn’t the last person to share his final moments.

  “Yes. I mean, I knew who he was, but I only talked to him a few times,” I said, truthfully enough. Just stay behind me...

  “Well, on Monday there’s going to be an assembly first thing.” My mom reached across the coffee table, handing me her phone so I could read the email from the school.

  “How are you doing with this, Paige?” Dad asked, searching my face for my reaction as I read the email. Suspicious fire...death of a student...fourth floor closed until further notice...

  “I’m okay. Like I said, I didn’t really know him but...he seemed like a good guy.” I blinked rapidly, hoping to stave off any tears that threatened to push their way through.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah...” My voice trailed off. “It’s just sad.”

  I stood up to give my mom back her phone.

  “Honey, we could stay home tonight,” Mom offered, a sympathetic look on her face as she fidgeted with the phone in her hands. “It’s not like we paid for these tickets.”

  “We’ll stay,” Dad mouthed to my mom.

  “Guys, I promise you, I’m okay,” I insisted. “You haven’t had a date night in years. You’re going to your favorite restaurant. And you got all dressed up.” I fanned my hand to my mom, who sat in her nicest black pants and favorite green silk shirt, her long dark hair pulled back in an elegant chignon. I had inherited the same thick, wavy hair from Mom—I knew what a pain it was to put in an updo. The fact that she spent all this time on a complicated hairstyle was a big sign that she was looking forward to a night out.

  “Dad, take Mom out,” I said firmly, crossing my arms. “You’ll gain at least ten husband points for it.”

  “Very cute, young lady,” my father said, even though my mom laughed.

  “Seriously, you guys. I’m not going to do anything tonight but watch TV.”

  * * *

  But instead, later that night, I found myself in my bedroom, sprawled out on my bed with my old sketchbook and charcoal pencil, drawing random objects as I mulled over the past two days. The glowing oval ring on Ajax’s index finger. Blaise’s glittering eyes. Logan’s hand, covered by the intricate latticework of the sword as he gripped the handle.

  I giggled as I remembered how cocky Logan could be about his weapon-handling skills. He was fun to watch—and he was so playful when he was in his element. I’d almost think he was flirting with me, but sometimes, something so dark and sad would overtake his expression, and he’d seem so unsure.

  “Maybe he’s picking up on the fact that you like him and it’s making him uncomfortable.”

  I scowled at the words, finally said aloud. I glanced over to where my cat had been batting a hair elastic. He was now sitting in the middle of my floor, staring at me, as if to say, “Told you so.”

  It was true: I liked pen-stealing, demonslaying Logan Bradley. But once the last demon was gone, so was he. He’d said so himself. Still, I couldn’t help but mull over his shy smiles and the intense way he held my gaze while I absentmindedly sketched.

  “Paige, stop it,” I said aloud, before blowing some charcoal off my hand. “You have to stop reading into every time he touches you. Or every time he says something sweet.”

  I looked down at my sketch book and frowned at the illustration of slightly arched brows peering out from underneath a baseball cap.

  “And you definitely need to stop sketching Logan Bradley.”

  Chapter 6

  “YOU’RE SEEING LOGAN today? So soon?”

  My mom did her best to keep her face impassive, but her voice shot up so high I’m pretty sure I heard a dog howling his reply in the distance. My mom and I were sitting around the small table in the corner of the living room on Sunday, talking about my alleged trip to the Museum of Natural History—and my upbeat chatter had put my mom in a pretty good mood. I really hoped that my announcement didn’t change that.

  “Yeah. I mean, if that’s okay,” I added hastily, taking a quick look at my father’s empty chair as if he would materialize just to tell me no. Only my father would learn how to bend the rules of time and space just to stop me from seeing a boy.

  “Of course it’s okay. It’s just a little...unexpected, that’s all,” she added, carefully picking her words. “I mean, we never heard of this boy until Friday, and now you’ll have spent all weekend with him.”

  “Mom, we’re just hanging out,” I said, slathering the uneaten half of my bagel with a thick layer of cream cheese.

  “I didn’t imply that you were running off to Vegas and getting matching tattoos,” Mom said with a smirk.

  “You caught me!” I pretended to be surprised. “That’s totally what we’re doing. Face tat for me, tramp stamp for Logan.”

  We both broke into full-on giggle fits, until my mom wiped her mouth with her blue napkin before tossing it on the table. She arched her eyebrow and gave me her practiced stare.

  “We’re just friends,” I insisted, squirming underneath her intense look.

  “Just friends, huh? It always starts that way.” My mom gave me a knowing smile and picked up her bagel again. I realized that the last time we had had a normal mother-daughter conversation was before I was hit by the car. Since then, all conversations had the cloud of my assumed mental illness hanging over them. And I do mean all conversations—even the sporadic ones about the opposite sex.

  I’d missed our talks. My mom and I used to have an easy relationship. She had always been less quick to judge than my father. And I wanted to talk to her about Logan—I figured I could stay as close to the truth as possible as long as I kept all things demonic out of the conversation.

  “You never heard of him before because he’s new this year,” I explained. “He transferred in and we only started hanging out outside of school this week. He kind of keeps to himself.”

  “Oh, where’s he from?”

  “All over. Chicago, Texas. He lives with his uncle. He’s, um—” I fumbled for the words and leaned down to scratch Mercer’s head as he pawed at my thigh, begging for some cream cheese. What should I say Rego does? Saying “warlock” wouldn’t exactly put a check mark in the Paige Isn’t Crazy column.

  “He’s what, sweetie?” Mom prompted me.

  “He does something with the army.” The warlock army. “Anyway, they move around a lot.”

  “That can’t be easy on Logan.”<
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  “I got the impression his life was kind of...isolating.” I frowned. I couldn’t imagine Rego had been the type to tuck little Logan into bed at night.

  “Well, how long is Logan here until?”

  Good question. One that had kept me up for a few hours last night.

  “He’s probably leaving before the school year’s out.”

  “Does he know about—” my mom paused, clearly searching for the words that I could have predicted she’d say “—how you’ve struggled in the past?”

  I sighed, crestfallen. I had so desperately wanted my mom to talk to me like I was normal.

  “You’re doing great, sweetie,” my mom rushed to say, reaching forward to place her hand over mine. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just wond—”

  “He knows,” I blurted out quickly. “And he doesn’t care.”

  I ripped off a big bite of bagel with my teeth, because I apparently eat like a bear when I’m sulking.

  “Well, that’s great. We all deserve someone we can be ourselves around. He seemed nice—in the brief moment I met him, at least,” Mom said sincerely. “I mean, I don’t think he’s killed anyone.”

  My mom’s comment promptly caused me to choke on the wad of my bagel in my mouth, my eyes tearing as she patted me on the back. She had no idea how wrong she was—and how acutely she reminded me of the fact that Logan was a demonslayer, here to do a job and kill the demons that wanted to kidnap me. My questionable feelings for him were insignificant compared to that.

  “He’s going to leave,” was running through my head on a loop an hour later as I climbed the stairs to the roof. The door was already propped open.

  Logan stood in the center of the rooftop, now damp from melted snow. He wore a pale gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and had his back to me, his sword merely a blur as he showed off his considerable skills. Yep, he’d definitely been taking it easy on me yesterday. He was agile and swift, but strong—his sword slicing through the air with an audible whistling sound. When Logan heard the door open, he whirled around. He wasn’t wearing his baseball cap for once, and the day was bright, almost warm, so his face was bathed in a soft glow from the winter sun. Logan’s normally shaded eyes looked a much lighter brown in the sun, and they crinkled up at the corners as he gave me an easy smile.

  Are you deliberately screwing with me, sun? What’s next? Is his smile going to sparkle as a bell-like “ding” chimes in the distance? Is a butterfly going to land on his shoulder? Give the boy a white horse and it’s a wrap for poor Paige’s heart.

  Not falling for Logan Bradley was going to be more challenging than I thought.

  “Hey,” I called in my best impression of “casual,” but my voice just sounded slightly high-pitched and incredibly awkward.

  “Hey, yourself,” he replied, falling into step next to me as I walked over to the picnic table, dumping my coat next to his.

  “So how was the party?” I asked, then hastily added, “I mean, is, um, Della dead?”

  Logan scowled, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his baseball cap. He rolled the brim between his palms before setting it on his head.

  “No, she didn’t show up. But from what people were saying, she’s latched on to her victim.”

  I leaned against the table as he spoke, thinking of the lusty way Della had leered at Matt on Friday.

  “Already? Wow, she moves fast.”

  “That girl Parmesan or whatever was crying in the bathroom about it.”

  “It’s Pepper, actually,” I corrected him, stifling a grin at his version of her nickname. “Did Matt dump her for Della?”

  He nodded, sighing heavily as he also leaned against the table, which creaked under his weight. “If she’s got her hooks into him, it’s only a matter of time before Dottie gets another friend in the Dark World. After all, Della’s the female version of the same demon that effectively killed your friend.”

  I ran my hand through my hair, grabbing a fistful at my scalp as I tried to process the news. The news that yet another innocent person would die—all because of me.

  “So, what’s going to happen to him?”

  “She’ll feed on him, and it will slowly suck the life out of him. After about two weeks, he’ll look like an old man. He’ll be an old man.”

  “Feeding on him? How does—” I stopped, noticing the pointed look Logan was giving me.

  “Lust demon,” is all he said.

  “Oh. Ew.” I shuddered. “How can we help him? Can we reverse it?” I asked desperately.

  Logan blinked at me, taken aback.

  “We aren’t doing anything. Maybe when Matt sees his girlfriend, she’ll trigger his memory and break Della’s hold—if their connection is strong enough. Any reminder of a deep attachment can break her spell. But I’m not going to go running off after Della to leave you unprotected from Aiden. He’s a Regent, Paige. He’s pretty powerful.”

  “But—that’s not the right thing to do. We have to do something to help Matt,” I insisted, staring at Logan in shock. He merely gave me an indulgent smile that bordered on condescending. “Look, it’s really admirable that you want to save him, but you have to understand that—”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot,” I snapped, irritated.

  The muscle in Logan’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth together. “I don’t think you’re an idiot. You know I don’t think that.” He pushed off the table to face me, confusion and annoyance flashing across his face. “But we don’t how powerful your ability to move between the two worlds could be. You need to be protected. Why are you so worried about Vogel, anyway?” Logan spat his name out.

  “Because Travis already lost his life. And now you’re telling me Matt is in danger of losing his, all because I’ve got some weird supernatural ability to be able to open portals between two universes!” I cried, angry. “No. No! I won’t be responsible for it. Della’s death has to be the priority.”

  Logan shoved his hands in his back pockets and looked down, his jaw clenched so hard I thought he might crack a tooth.

  But when he turned his face up to meet mine, he merely nodded in agreement, one quick jerk up and down.

  “Okay, fine,” he said. “But if it’s a choice of saving you or that jerk-off Vogel, I’m saving you.”

  “Well, I’m not going to argue with that,” I agreed. “Obviously, I’m a fan of, you know, being alive and all that.”

  Logan waved his hand toward the center of the roof, quickly pulling out his sword as he walked.

  “So, how was the rest of the party?” I changed the subject, hoping to dissolve some of the tension between us as I twirled my sword in a wobbly figure eight. Logan merely shrugged in reply before reaching out to swap our weapons.

  “No good?” I asked, handing over my sword.

  “Couldn’t tell you.” He grabbed my sword and stared up at the blade, balancing the tip of the handle in his palm. “I left after I found out Della wasn’t coming.”

  “Seriously?” I asked, surprised. Logan flicked his palm upward, causing the sword to pop into the air, where he grabbed it and held the weapon at his side.

  “Paige, I told you I was only going to see if Della showed up. She didn’t, so I left. I was only there for about a half hour or so.” He stopped, a devious smile spreading across his face. “I’m pretty sure I pissed off that Andie chick by leaving.”

  “I figured you’d stay if it was fun,” I said, forcing my voice to sound casual and not like I wanted to jump in the air and do a victory dance. Suck it, Andie!

  Logan stared at me as if I had fireworks shooting out of my nostrils.

  “Seriously, Paige? After the way they talked—”

  He stopped short, biting his lip as if he were trying to bite back the words.

 
“About me, right?” I finished for him with a resigned sigh. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be,” he said, his knuckles white as he gripped his sword handle. “They don’t know you. Their small opinions don’t define you. Being different doesn’t make you worthy of scorn. And if I ever get to hang out with anyone, just for fun—” Logan continued, looking me straight into my eyes, taking a deep breath “—it’s not going to be with them.”

  “Oh,” I said, my voice slightly unsteady. What happened to shy, uncertain Logan?

  “So, today, I was thinking I should just attack you,” Logan began, then hastily added, “with the sword, I mean. Not, like, attack you. You know. I want you to work on your defensive skills.”

  Oh, there’s shy, uncertain Logan.

  “I’m also going to teach you some basic self-defense moves that are good to know in general.”

  I nodded, holding my sword up warily as Logan started his assault slowly, before building up to a furious attack. I managed to deflect one out of every five hits, but since he was using my sword, the strikes were merely surprising—not painful.

  But he could have been clobbering me with a sledgehammer, and it still wouldn’t have had the impact that his arms did when they were wrapped around me, holding me tight as he tried to teach me more self-defense.

  “Try to head-butt me,” Logan said, his cheek touching mine as he held me from behind, holding my arms immobile. “Gently, though,” he cautioned, and his breath tickled my cheek, causing my pulse to speed. “I will definitely bleed if you smash my nose in.”

  How romantic.

  I squirmed in his arms as I tried to break his hold.

  “If you can’t throw your head back, try to smash my foot,” Logan advised as I wriggled in his arms, causing his lips to brush against my neck. The accidental touch had me wanting to squirm for an entirely different reason, but Logan quickly released me from his arms.

  I spun around to see him rubbing the back of his neck, looking down.

  “What?” I asked, pretending that the last thirty seconds didn’t happen—and that accidentally kissing my neck didn’t make Logan practically flee to the other side of the roof.