by Lily Luchesi
“That cannot happen,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as long as you’re with me.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
Daphne sighed and said, so softly Salem almost missed it, “Then why do I feel so ill when I’m near you now?”
The words stopped Salem in his tracks. He could never prove it, but he was certain that his heart ceased beating for a moment or two.
“What are you saying?” he asked quietly.
Daphne sighed, and he looked at her, really looked. Her face was pale and drawn, dark circles beneath her blue eyes. Even her hair looked lank.
“I’m saying that, the only reason I am able to be so close to you, is because my magic demands it,” she explained. “Your Darkness is radiating. And it scares me.” She turned to fully face him, her hands holding one of his so tight, they trembled.
“I love you, Salem. But if this keeps happening … I don’t know what we are supposed to do.”
He swallowed around the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He hadn’t cared about his Darkness until right that moment. Now that it was hurting Daphne, however, he cared more than he ever thought possible.
After classes that day, Salem was still scared, concerned, and having a difficult time reining in the Darkness he felt growing within him. He didn’t know where to go, who to talk to. It seemed everyone on the side of the Light would shun him, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone from the castle. Not even Edelstone. Especially not Edelstone.
So, he found himself walking to the door of the one person who didn’t seem fazed by this Darkness.
Robert Ainsley arched an eyebrow quizzically when he opened the door to see Salem standing there.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, my old friend?” he asked.
Without knowing what he was going to say or do, Salem blurted out, “I need your help.”
Quickly, he ushered him inside and locked the door behind them so they wouldn’t be disturbed. “Talk to me.” He leaned against the couch, arms crossed. His blond hair fell in his face, as he was beginning to grow it out as Salem had. He looked like he could front a human rock band, not cast spells and hexes.
“It’s my Darkness,” he said. “Daphne told me it makes her sick to be around me. And I … I can feel it. Bubbling to the surface. It is always right there and I can’t control it very well anymore.” He clenched his fists in his cloak. “You … you’re the centre of Clan Munro now. You’re the closest thing to the Darkness. I know it’s not the same. But is there anything you can do, anything I can do?”
Robert paused, seeming to study him. It was almost as if he was trying to read his mind or his heart or something else. It was unnerving.
“You are a teenager,” he said finally. “And I noticed that you seem to be suffering from severe anxiety and possibly depression as well. And those things, left unchecked and increased by the daily torment you receive from those two clowns, can cause your magic to become uncontrollable.
“What you need is an outlet for your growing Darkness. A place to centre it so that it no longer consumes you. And then, only then, can you begin to feel better. And no longer make your girlfriend sick.” He smiled wryly.
“How?” he asked, almost challenging his friend. Which he knew was a terrible idea. “Dark magic is prohibited. If I perform it, one of Angelica Cross’ acolytes will simply come and strip me of my powers.”
He chuckled. “I can’t tell if you’re brave or insane to talk about the PID the way you do. You can create something Dark, an outlet to put your Dark energies in, and not use it. Be it a potion or a spell. As long as you do not use it on a creature with a conscience, including humans, and Michael and Caelum for that matter, you remain within the boundaries of the law.”
Salem listened closely, making sure to check his words for possible loopholes that could get him in trouble, and found none. “If you truly mean that…”
“I do.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Darkness can take over if you do not give it an outlet. So go. Go and create your outlet. Whatever that may be.”
Salem didn’t want his ‘outlet’ to be at the Quigleys’ house. In case Dark magic was traced back to him, he didn’t want to involve Pat and Martha. They were both wonderful people, and he’d loathe to see them accidentally become enmeshed in his own personal Darkness.
There was an old shed on the castle grounds used to keep Pege Polo equipment stored. That was where he went. No one was practising, so no one would be using the shed that night.
“Reserare,” he cast and the shed unlocked itself, allowing him entry. He slipped inside, closing the door and finding himself in perfect pitch blackness.
“Lux,” he cast, and a little ball of light appeared in his palm. “Volant.” The light went up in the air, hovering once he cast a stasis charm over it. He was now illuminated by its warm glow.
Now to figure out what he was going to do. Initially, he wanted to create a potion, but it would be far too easy for someone to find, see his magical signature, and trace it back to him.
So he decided on a spell or hex, something he could use in private when he needed to let his Darkness loose and not actually harm anyone. Especially Daphne.
Creating new spells was not an easy task. Typically, magicians studied for decades before they could come up with anything worthwhile. But something deep inside Salem told him that his Darkness was strong enough to create something new. It was deep enough that it could manifest once he knew what he wanted it to do.
He closed his eyes, trying to get into a meditative state. In that state was when a magician’s powers were revealed to them in an almost corporeal way. It was a way for a magician to feel what they needed to do, rather than think about it.
Once he felt himself enter that state, he allowed his mind to roam freely, locate his Darkness, squirming within him like a snake, ready to strike and poison everyone around it.
What did it want? What did it need? How could he tame it, get it to sleep?
Deep within his soul, it whispered one word, a word he at first thought he misheard.
“Blood.”
Blood was for vampires. Blood was for Dark magic potions. But then he thought about all the abuse he’d suffered, how sometimes at night he’d fall asleep imagining his tormentors sliced to ribbons, screaming in agony as their viscous red blood was spilt on the ground before them in a scarlet river. How the rage and pain he felt made him desire nothing more than their cries to whatever deity they believed in to make the pain stop. To echo the cries he had made many nights, both at home from his father and at the Coven from Michael and Caelum.
His breath came short and he could feel his nerves thrumming. It was as if he was entering sensory overload, yet there was nothing around him to cause it. It all came from within, from his Darkness. It heightened his senses, even his fingertips seemed to thrum with energy, like his nervous system was being electrocuted.
He opened his eyes, and it seemed somehow that his vision was green, as vibrant and bright as his magic was. It should have alarmed him, but instead it only proved to spur him on even more.
He gasped for breath as his heart continued to pound, echoing in his ears. Whatever he was going to do, he knew he needed to harness that anger, that rage, that Darkness. He needed it as much as he hated it and wished it would go away. In order to tame his demons, he first needed to understand them, to give them what they wanted, and then they would go on their merry way.
Blood. He had to give his Darkness blood and it would go away. The idea, however, scared him. Did it want his blood? He had never been of the self-harming mindset. And he was unable to harm others.
His heightened senses caught movement in a dark corner of the shed, a large, hairy spider was scuttling across the floor, seemingly in search of a meal. Some magicians kept spiders such as these as familiars, though Salem didn’t particularly care for them.
“Veni,” he cast at the spider, and it was sent over to him, now on the small wooden tab
le in the shed. “Detineo,” he then cast. The spider was still. His magic thrummed harder in his palms. It knew he was getting close to unleashing his Darkness through it and it was excited. It was nearly alive.
Spells didn’t require vocalisation to be useful, in fact, some of the best spells created were silent ones. However, Salem knew he needed to vocalise a new spell or else it would never work. Problem was, he still wasn’t sure what he wanted aside from blood, and there were spells already created that could extract it, like suci, for instance.
He wanted something like artaith, something that would cause immense pain. But he wanted to see the physical proof of the pain in the form of blood. That was the difference.
Bloodshed. The Darkness wants bloodshed…
He held his hand out at the spider and whispered the first Latin-based word to come to his mind, “Caedas.”
The spider twisted, its eight legs splaying, before its body began to open up in multiple places, as if it had been sliced with an obsidian blade. Pale blue spider blood began to pool out of it. It sounded like it was hissing as the wounds opened wider. In less than ten seconds, the spider was dead in a pool of its own blood.
Salem took a shaky breath and slowly began to feel his body return to something like normal. The numb tingling of his fingertips slowed, his heart rate returned to normal, as did his vision. He could breathe through his nose and not gasp from the Darkness clawing at his chest.
The Darkness was still there — it always would be — but for the moment, at least, it had been satiated. His demons had demanded blood, and blood he gave them. For now, the spider had been enough.
But what would happen when a day came when that would no longer satisfy the Darkness that threatened to destroy him from the inside out?
Chapter 13
The next day at school, Daphne met with Salem on the front steps as they usually did. When she took his hand in hers, she looked up in surprise.
“You’re not overflowing with Dark magic anymore.”
Salem smirked, but deep inside he was so glad that Robert’s suggestion had worked. “You act as though I was ever only filled with Darkness.”
“Well, no, of course not,” she replied quickly, her cheeks reddening. “It’s that, lately, it seemed to be that way. But not since the beginning.”
Salem smiled, moving his hand from hers to pull her close around her waist. The move was a bold one for him, especially on the castle steps. Daphne looked up at him, surprised as she smiled a little.
“What do you say we go out to dinner tonight?” Salem asked. “I’ve got some pounds saved up from working at Piper’s. Tito’s Trattoria?”
She looked up and smiled wide. “I’d love that. Seven?”
“I will meet you there, if that’s okay.” The last thing Salem wanted was to have to knock on the Frasers’ door and make small talk with Mrs. Fraser, especially since she hated his guts.
“Sounds good.”
Salem thought that if he could bottle up that smile she gave him, he would, just to keep it forever and remember when he was this happy.
That evening, he rummaged through every article of clothing he owned, and only managed to come up with a loose fitting white button down, which was the only thing he owned that wasn’t black, a pair of black trousers, and a black jacket that Pat Quigley loaned him, though he was pretty sure it was actually Martha’s, since Salem was so skinny.
As he walked into town, he bumped into Roger, who was with Michael and another boy Salem didn’t know.
“Where are you off to tonight?” Robert asked.
Normally, Salem wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him, but since Michael was with him, he was reluctant to say anything at all.
“Dinner. And if you blokes will excuse me, I don’t want to be late.”
“Meeting your mum?” Michael teased. “Since that’s probably the only person who can handle your ugly mug while they eat.”
Salem turned and glared at him. Why was Robert friends with him? It made no sense: Michael was wholly unpleasant.
“Says the bugger who can’t get a date on a Friday night,” Salem quipped. “Robert, I will see you tomorrow, when you’re in less revolting company.” He turned on his heel and walked away. He was in too good a mood to let Smith spoil it.
Daphne was waiting outside the restaurant, clad in a long red dress with a sparkling gold design. Salem knew he would look like a vagabond next to her, but it didn't matter as long as she kept smiling up at him like she was right then.
Without verbal greeting, he grabbed her around the waist and kissed her. She laughed into the kiss, holding on tightly.
“I love your new way of greeting me. I just hope that you haven’t greeted anyone else like that lately,” she teased.
“Why, yes. In fact, I just snogged Robert as I passed him on my way here,” Salem joked as he led her into the restaurant.
She playfully whacked at his arm. “Git.”
The maître’d seated them, giving Salem a side eyed glance all the while.
“I take it he’s from your side of the tracks,” Salem commented.
Daphne rolled her eyes. “I get so sick of this. Being judged for being with you.”
“Are people judging you?” he asked carefully. “Or just me?”
She sighed. “Both of us. Especially me. I am the only real Fraser heir, unless my uncle decides to get married and sire a child. Who I date, who I befriend, it’s scrutinised by everyone, especially most Elders. And I have only dated one person: you.”
Salem did not like the way that date was starting. At all. “And what do you think about all of it?”
“I don’t give a flying faerie what people think,” she said. “But it gets hard to avoid my mother, and her insistence she set me up with an ‘eligible’ man. As if, number one, you are not good enough for me. And number two, I am only good for marrying right and producing an heir. I am a witch! I don’t want to continue the bloodline. I want to make my mark on the Coven and the magical community in general!”
Salem couldn’t help a small smile. He loved so many things about Daphne, but most of all he loved her fiery spirit. It warmed the coldness in him. But deep down, he wondered how long she could last under the pressure that her peers were putting on her. How long would she be able to stay with him, when everyone she knew was rooting against them?
The thought put a bit of a damper on the evening for him, even more so when she started telling him that Boyle had asked her to tutor both Robert and Michael in Household Charms class.
It figured Robert was rubbish at it: he was wealthy, he had probably never had to wash a dish or darn a sock. But he didn't like that she didn’t seem to mind being around Michael so much.
“He’s not so bad anymore,” she admitted. “At least, he calmed down ever since you defeated Caelum in that duel.”
He had, but only because he felt he needed to. Wizards, shifters, and vampires have high senses of honour. He had made the promise, and he still found every loophole to jump through to be a prat to Salem.
“I can’t believe you can even say anything good about him at all,” Salem scoffed.
“We’re all growing up, Sal,” Daphne said. “I hope that, eventually, we can leave childishness behind us and all be friends.”
Salem thought perhaps he could … had Michael and Caelum not plotted to murder him the previous year. A murder attempt sort of puts a damper on a friendship.
“You do recall that they tried to kill me not long ago, right?”
Daphne snickered. “I honestly think they didn’t know what was going to happen. Not like either of them are good at Brewing.”
Pain hit him like an arrow. How could she be so blasé about his near death experience? Brought on by the hands of two careless idiots? Even if they hadn’t known the outcome, they still should not have done what they did, especially Caelum.
Unsure of what to say, he was glad when he saw a waiter coming toward them. That is, until the man opened his mout
h.
“Salem Sinclair?”
“Who wants to know?”
“The King just received a call from London, about your mother. I am afraid it’s bad news.”
On the other side of the Coven, Caelum and Draven were also trying to have a date night. While the two often went out together and were never away from each other’s sides at school, Caelum wanted to make it a special night for them both. Daphne had made plans with Salem, Mrs. Fraser was at her cousin’s birthday celebration, and he had managed to urge Michael to stay over at Robert’s place so the two of them could be alone at Fraser Manor.
He had spent the evening using magic as well as recipe books to make dinner. He liked cooking, but he wanted the meal to be more than simple rashers or bangers. He wanted it to be romantic.
So he cooked up rare t-bone steaks, since he and Draven seemed to love bloody meat, with a side of shrimp scampi. The recipe said to use one clove of garlic, but Caelum wasn’t sure that was enough and used three instead.
In case Mrs. Fraser returned soon, he put a Charm over the pot to contain the stench of garlic and began to light candles in the dining room. He even brought out his record player and started playing something classical that Mrs. Fraser had.
Draven came down from his room, where he appeared to have been having a nap. Caelum noticed that he was a natural night owl and often took naps after class until dinnertime.
He walked into the dining room and looked around, perplexed. “Cae? Is this some sort of ritual?”
“Mating ritual, maybe,” Caelum replied with a smirk. “The house was going to be empty tonight, thought I’d surprise you.”
Draven chuckled a little. “I’m … I’m not sure what I am. This is sweet.” He walked over to Caelum and the shifter pulled him into his arms. Draven promptly coughed.
Caelum pulled away, brows knitted. Especially since Draven continued to cough. He looked awful, with viciously reddening eyes. Like an allergy attack.
“Draven? What’s wrong?” He placed a shaking hand on his boyfriend’s back.