The Dark World

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  “It was romantic,” I muttered, resentful that the moment had passed—and Logan was clearly not about to open up to me with an audience. He stood there with his arms folded, the muscle in his jaw twitching as whatever he’d been about to tell me churned behind his stormy eyes. Dottie frowned, and I noticed that she was slightly transparent—giving me a first-class ticket for a guilt trip.

  “Dots, you don’t have to leave,” I said apologetically. It’s not like she’d known Logan and I were about to have a breakthrough before stupid Travis barged in. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” she replied faintly, her voice slightly panicked.

  I looked up at Logan in terror, and he quickly pushed me behind him, withdrawing his sword as he assumed an aggressive stance.

  “Is it Aiden?” I whispered, gripping on to the back of Logan’s shirt as Travis and Dottie disappeared entirely.

  And then everything in the auditorium went black.

  Chapter 12

  ADRENALINE FLOODED MY veins, a sickening tension chilling my body as I grabbed the back of Logan’s shirt more tightly, needing to stay connected to him in the darkness. He spoke quickly, repeating “Luserna Illuminabit” in that unfamiliar language. His voice was confident and strong—reassuring me in the darkness. If he was afraid, he was hiding it expertly.

  Brilliant flashes streaked over our heads, summoned by Logan’s spell. They spun in tight whirlpools, quickly taking the form of dusky orbs of light that hovered in the air, illuminating the auditorium in an eerie, acidic yellow glow.

  Something darted through the seats in the darkened rear of the auditorium, a shadowy alcove underneath the balcony. I stepped back, dropping my hold on Logan’s shirt to draw my sword, holding it in the defensive stance I’d tried to perfect over the past month.

  “Just stay behind me,” Logan said, one arm outstretched to the side as a barrier to protect me. Those words bounced around in my head—the very same words that Travis had spoken before Blaise killed him.

  I took a deep breath, gripping the handle of my sword more tightly as I tried to steady my trembling hands. Logan isn’t Travis. He’s killed hundreds of demons.

  A sudden cracking sound broke the silence, with sharp, rapid pops and snaps echoing through the empty auditorium. One of the seats came flying down the main aisle, shattering into splinters of wood and twisted metal joints.

  A seat that until now had been bolted to the floor.

  Another seat followed it, and I heard a deep, feral grunt from the back of the auditorium, as a hulking figure lumbered out of the shadows.

  Even if you didn’t know he was a demon, you’d cross the street when you saw him coming. He looked like a cage fighter, close-cropped hair capping off a mass of solid muscle. A leather patch covered his left eye, and a long, puckered red scar pulled at the skin of his cheek. Where Aiden was lean and graceful, this demon was stocky, a mountain of muscle that tested the limits of the thin, yellowed T-shirt and holey jeans straining to cover him. His hands were clenched into fists as he strode purposefully down the aisle, his massive chest heaving as he turned to grab another seat. In one swift move, he slammed his hands down, smashing the seat to pieces before ripping the base from the ground and hurling it toward the stage. I let out a strangulated cry, and Logan’s arm reached back to me, his hand curling around my hip as he gently shoved me back behind him.

  “Remember when I said only three demons have gotten away?” Logan whispered. “This is one of them.”

  He gave my hip a reassuring squeeze before walking forward. “You still have quite a few anger issues there, Bor,” Logan called to the demon calmly, spinning his sword the way someone might casually swing an umbrella or a cane.

  “How long ago did I take your eye? I was what, thirteen? I wasn’t even that good back then,” Logan said, laughing—as Bor let out another grunt, his body appearing to vibrate with hostility and anger.

  “Rage demon,” Logan whispered in a clipped tone. “Do not step foot off this stage until I tell you to run. Go home. Don’t go backstage—stay visible.”

  “What about you?”

  I heard his faint yet frustrated sigh.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll meet you. Midnight, your roof.”

  With that, Logan ran and leaped off the stage, landing in a crouching position a mere few feet in front of Bor.

  “I can smell you from here, Bor.” Logan laughed harshly as he stood before the hulking demon. “What’s wrong—can’t find the soap with only one eye?”

  Bor unleashed another loud, inhuman roar, his jaw seeming to unhinge with the force of his howl, and he effortlessly ripped out another chair, sending bolts scattering as he raised it over his head and rushed at Logan, bringing the heavy wood crashing down. A cry stuck in my throat as Logan ducked to the side mere seconds before the chair exploded in a burst of shattered wood and twisted metal—right where he’d been standing. My eyes finally found Logan, balanced on top of a nearby aisle seat, one foot on the armrest and the other on the back of the chair.

  “Your aim sucks. Try to get me, cyclops,” he taunted, crooking his finger in Bor’s direction. The demon rushed toward Logan, who deftly ran across the row of armrests, luring the demon farther away from me.

  “I’m right here,” Logan called in a singsong voice to Bor, whose bulky size was too great for the narrow aisles. The demon brought his massive fists down on the chairs, smashing them as he cleared a path to chase after Logan. A trail of splinters and debris followed Logan, who was in full über-confident demonslayer mode. He kept turning around and provoking Bor, making sure the rage demon was following him.

  “C’mon, stinky. I’m right here,” Logan called, ducking as Bor flung a broken piece of wood at him.

  My hands began to cramp as I clenched my sword, desperately praying that Logan didn’t stumble as he precariously balanced on the thin slivers of wood. One fall was all it would take for him to lose momentum, for the rage demon to catch up to him.

  Bor lurched forward, his meaty arms swinging out to grab Logan, who launched himself off the last chair, coming to face Bor with his sword drawn and raised.

  “Paige, now!” Logan shouted, and I jumped off the stage, running to the exit, sword in hand. I heard a series of grunts and cast one quick look back, seeing Logan’s sword splashed with dark blood, the front of Bor’s shirt slashed and stained brown. And then I slammed into something hard.

  I stared ahead of me, rubbing my sore shoulder as I gaped at the large golden bars that had appeared out of nowhere in front of me, blocking the aisle as they formed what looked like a gate, topped with razor-sharp spikes that pierced the air several feet above my head.

  I raised my sword like a bat, swinging at the bars as if I were trying to hit a home run. Instead of knocking the bars down, the blade ricocheted off them with a dull clang, throwing me off my feet as my sword vibrated in my hand.

  And then I heard a soft chuckle from the balcony above.

  “I knew I needed a gilded cage to catch this little bird, but I had no idea she’d run so willingly into it.”

  That familiar voice floated over the sounds of Bor’s angry snarls—that familiar voice that clawed my already raw nerves to shreds. Trembling, I scrambled to my feet, retreating away from the golden contraption, this creation of Aiden’s designed to somehow torment me. Would it electrocute me? Impale me with those spikes? Unleash whiplike spines intended to slash me to pieces like his last little invention?

  That was the problem with magical torture devices invented by demons—the possibilities for inflicting pain really were endless.

  I looked up, finding Aiden leaning forward on the balcony, his chin resting in his hands as if he were watching a cute scene play out in the theater.

  In a sick way, that’s exactly what he was doing.

  “Oh, no, litt
le bird, I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” he purred, grinning at me with his calculating, confident smile as he rubbed his shoulder. He appeared to be wearing some kind of armor over his right side, where Logan had stabbed him previously, and he tapped it, mimicking a beating heart.

  I screamed for Logan, but he didn’t hear me over Bor’s savage howls, which reverberated in the auditorium. Logan’s back was to me as he furiously hacked apart the bloodied demon. Bor’s left arm was gone at the elbow, his right arm a dark, pulpy patchwork of deep gashes as it wildly clawed for Logan. Bor was nothing but a relentless, ruthless beast, tasked with distracting Logan so Aiden could get to me. And it was working.

  “He can’t help you now,” Aiden cooed, a delighted smile on his face. “I just love how useful a rage demon can be. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but it took me forever to find just the right guy for the job.”

  A shimmering, spark-filled mist coiled around the bars on both ends of the gate. The sparks condensed into a vertical line, solidifying into another golden pole. Then another. The mist was everywhere as the golden bars began multiplying, one tall, spike-topped pole after another materializing at a rapid pace, lining the aisle where I stood.

  Caging me in.

  Logan’s shouts echoed in my ears as I turned on my heel and started racing toward the stage. I had to outrun the bars that kept appearing, forming an expanding cage that threatened to wrap around me, trapping me in this magical jail. The bars made a sharp turn inward as I reached the end of the aisle, and I flung my sword on the stage, the blade hitting the floorboards as I launched myself forward. My fingers gripped the high edge of the stage and I hoisted myself up. I’d just managed to swing my other leg up, and I rolled across the boards as the golden bars crashed into the stage with a dull clang before disintegrating into mist.

  I heard a loud swear from Aiden, followed by a slamming door as I grabbed my sword again, pushing myself into a standing position with one hand. My eyes first fell on the now-empty balcony before searching for Logan, who was taking one final swing at Bor’s neck. The demon’s furious roar sputtered—turning into a sickening gurgle as Logan sliced through his throat. Then Bor was silent, and the only sound was the hollow, dull thud of the demon’s head landing on the floor, where it unevenly rolled down the sloped floor of the auditorium. Bor’s body remained standing, his weight swaying back and forth. With the tip of his sword, Logan poked Bor’s chest, and the beast fell back with a weighty thud that reverberated in the auditorium.

  Logan spun around quickly and ran toward me, leaping on the stage and joining my side in mere seconds.

  “Paige, are you hurt?” he asked, his tone agitated but his face full of nothing but concern as his eyes roamed over me, checking for injuries.

  “I’m okay,” I said in a trembling voice, my body shaking as I tried to come down from my adrenaline overdose. “But Aiden was here. He was in the balcony, he almost trapped me,” I told him, and Logan’s eyes narrowed as they darted from the now-empty balcony around the auditorium.

  “Come on, we’re getting you out of here.” He wrapped his arm around me as he started swiftly ushering me to the edge of the stage, his head swiveling around as he glared at all the darkened corners of the auditorium. I knelt down to hop off the stage when I noticed movement on the balcony.

  “He’s here!” I yelled, pointing up at the balcony, where Aiden had his arm pitched back, a bulging satchel slung across his chest. He pulled out his fist and flung a handful of coins at us, light glinting off the shiny metal discs as they flew through the air. The spines unfurled, lashing at the air with audible whipping sounds as Aiden reached back into his bag for more ammo.

  Logan grabbed me around the waist, spinning and pulling me into his arms as we ran into the wings. As if they could see where we were hiding, the discs sharply turned to seek us out. The small, deadly weapons whizzed above, and we dove to the floor, the discs embedding themselves in the wall behind where our heads had been moments earlier.

  We huddled on the floor, Logan’s body covering mine as the projectiles flew overhead. They pierced the forest backdrop, shredding the painted canvas into long, heavy sheets that tumbled to the stage alongside sparks from the severed electrical wires.

  The discs relentlessly flew overhead, glittering gold whips lashing at the walls backstage and shattering them like they were made of thin crystal, not thick concrete. Metal crunched loudly next to me as the coins found the door to the dressing rooms, the thrashing spines effortlessly carving the steel into slivers.

  I burrowed my face into Logan’s neck, my fingers clinging to his shirt as his hand rested against the exposed side of my face, keeping me shielded. And then he cried out, his head falling to my shoulder. I felt him shudder in pain as one of the gold discs sliced into the wall just inches over his shoulder.

  I tried to disentangle from him, desperate to check his injury, throw myself over his wounded back—protect him in some way—but Logan braced himself above me with one palm over my shoulder. His other arm wound around me, keeping me close against his chest.

  “You’re hurt!” I cried, but Logan merely gripped me more tightly.

  “I’m fine,” he grunted, still protecting me in spite of his pain. I shut my eyes as chunks of black-painted concrete rained down, the coins scarring the walls with deep gouges.

  And suddenly it was over—the auditorium grew quiet again, and the only noises piercing the silence were the faint, steady sounds of concrete chips dropping on the floor, the flapping of the shredded canvas and the popping sound of sparks from the severed wires on the stage.

  Logan pressed his finger to my lips as we listened for Aiden.

  “He’s gotta be out of ammo. He won’t face me in hand-to-hand,” he whispered, wincing as a bolt of pain shuddered through him.

  I tugged on his collar, begging him with my eyes to let me up, but he just shook his head. Logan took a deep breath before shouting, “Nice try. Wanna come face me so I can skewer you again?” His voice sounded strong and clear, but his face told another story, his features twisted in agony.

  We heard the unmistakable sound of a door slamming, and Logan relaxed slightly. Still, we remained crouched against the floorboards, tangled up in each other until we heard the indisputable sign that Aiden truly was gone: Dottie and Travis were back—and they were frantically calling our names.

  “Back here,” I called, running my hands over Logan’s face and chest as I tried to find out where else he could be injured.

  “You’re hurt,” I fretted. “Is it your shoulder? Do I need to go get Rego?”

  “No,” he said, his jaw clenched and his eyes tightly shut as he tried to take a deep breath that ended in an agonizing shudder.

  “Let me see,” I begged, trying to unwind myself from his hold. But Logan merely pulled me tighter to his chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

  “Just give me this moment,” he asked plaintively, clutching me tightly—and I began to panic.

  “How badly are you hurt?” I whispered, my eyes wide as I wrapped my arms around him. A sticky wetness soaked the back of his shirt, and I pulled my hands back in shock, staring at Logan’s ashen face as tears began filling my eyes. He quickly grabbed my wrists, covering my fists with his hands as he pulled us to a standing position.

  He grimaced at the movement, the agony plain across his pale face.

  “Logan, please. You’re scaring me,” I said, the tears that were blurring my vision now streaming down my cheeks. “Let me see. Let me get Rego. Please, I can’t lose you.”

  “It’s just a deep scratch,” he insisted, his voice rough as he held my hands. “I swear. Please, don’t look.”

  Dottie’s and Travis’s faces appeared behind Logan, their expressions perfectly synchronized as they transitioned from worry to relief—and then to confusion.

  “Aide
n attacked. Logan’s hurt,” I choked out, and Travis’s brow was furrowed as he stared at Logan.

  “What’s all over you guys?”

  “What?” I asked, puzzled. Logan dropped his hold on my wrists, and I looked down at our hands, missing his touch.

  And then I stopped.

  Everything stopped.

  My palms were splotchy with Logan’s blood. He watched me carefully for my reaction, but I could only stare at him. Without saying a word, he shifted his stance, turning his back toward me but continuing to watch me over his shoulder for my reaction.

  There, on his right shoulder blade, was a curved rip in his white shirt, where a lash had sliced through the fabric and into his skin. It wasn’t wide, but it was deep—he was bleeding profusely, and the blood glued his shirt to his back and stained my hands.

  Stained them a deep purple.

  Logan turned to face me again, wincing at the movement.

  “I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you so many times,” Logan began, but he let his voice trail off.

  “Tell you what?” Travis asked, but Dottie just shook her head at him. She knew what it meant.

  “Paige, you should leave,” Dottie ordered, giving Logan a suspicious look that would normally have made me laugh. “I don’t think you’re safe here.”

  “You think I’m going to hurt her?” Logan sputtered, twisting to stare at Dottie in shock. The movement caused pain to shoot across his face as he reached his hand behind his back, bracing his injured shoulder.

  I felt numb. Foolish. Naive. Blind. A thousand words for how I felt raced through my head as I stared down at my hands, colored a rich purple from demon blood—Logan’s blood. I raised my eyes to meet his, those brown eyes that I thought I knew so well, and I could only think one thing.

  How can I love you if I don’t even know you?

  “Paige, please, say something.” Logan took a step toward me, and I reflexively flinched backward.

  “It’s still me,” Logan insisted, gazing at me with those mournful eyes.