Demon Rising (Dark Rising Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Did this stupid witch expect her to reply? A silent moment passed where Mariah gloated like a bird with her feathered chest puffed out. In the quiet, the slow tentacles of fear crawled up Becca’s back. She pushed them down. There were several farming communities that hid from the attention of the city coven. It could be any of them.

  After she relished her moment of triumph, Mariah touched Becca’s forehead with one long finger. Becca stumbled back, the power losing its spell.

  Becca regained her footing and glared at Mariah. She wanted to fight her, but was outmatched in a head on fight against magic. “You think Nikko’s going to send someone way out here for a wild goose chase? If you waste his time, he’ll double your costs.”

  “If you blow a big deal for him, he may lower his costs in other ways,” Mariah grinned, looking hideous and threw the money at Becca’s feet. “Trust me.”

  Becca picked up the cash and thumbed through it. “Not a chance.”

  Tossing the package to the witch, she headed back to the bike. She knew better than to turn her back on a witch, but Mariah wanted Nikko to get this message. She wouldn’t kill the messenger, not yet.

  “You know you’re curious,” Mariah said barely loud enough for her to hear.

  Becca turned the key and started Dedra with a loud roar. Speeding down the road, the witch’s words spun around her mind. She was already out here and familiar with the land to the east more than she wanted to admit. Nikko would want the information as soon as he could get it. Gas may be tight, but she should be able to take a more direct path back to the city.

  Besides, she’d told herself she’d go back one day, but then one day turned into eight years. She ran out of excuses. She had to go, even if she lacked the courage to knock on the front door.

  Caleb awoke next to his parents’ grave. The reality of their death set in with the rise of the sun. He’d buried them last night, with the end of a burnt shovel. Lying against the cold earth, he lacked any desire to move, to leave their graves. Smoke permeated his clothes, his hair, and his existence as he stared at the burnt wreckage of what had been his life.

  As he dug his hands into the grass, hollowness enveloped him until he couldn’t feel anything at all. Dirt and soot darkened his hands. There were no more tears left as he sat in front of their graves. His world had vanished, and the embers of his family home were still warm.

  He’d buried his parents under his mom’s favorite bush. Its white flowers grew into tight balls and gave off a fragrance that smelled like her. The heavy green branches covered their graves, hiding them from scavengers.

  He plucked a petal and crushed it in his hand. Lifting it to his nose, he could only smell smoke. The remnant of what killed his parents. He placed a clenched fist on his chest as he struggled to draw a clear breath.

  Off hunting days earlier, he had seen the smoke first, dropped his kill, and taken off for the house. It had been burning for hours by the time he arrived. He was forced to watch it, unable to do anything. Now all he wanted was to lie down next to their graves and never get up.

  He was disgusted with himself. What would his father think? But his father wasn’t here anymore, was he?

  Caleb coughed, and his throat burned as he spat out black phlegm.

  “Why?” he cried to the sky. Why were his parents in the house? They should have had plenty of time to get out. What about the neighbors?

  The other homesteads flashed through his mind. Though miles away, they would have noticed a fire. The flames were contained before he arrived, so someone must have been here. Who was the question?

  Slowly, the pain in his chest morphed to anger. He stood with resolve and purpose, his large shadow covering their graves. He might never see his parents again, but he would make sure whoever did this would pay.

  CHAPTER 3

  Haunting memories appeared along the dirt path as Becca weaved through the forest. The cool wind whipped against her face, as she stared through her dark sunglasses.

  She could never forget the last time she took this road. Years ago, she walked this dirt trail—more like ran. Swallowing down the guilt and shame, she pushed away the cold memories of that night, which floated like ghosts among the pine trees.

  The stream that she often swam in as a girl weaved behind acres of old farmland and scattered homes. Some empty. Others full of people or families hiding out, not willing to live in the cities and play the coven’s game.

  Becca continued maneuvering the rugged path. Her hands ached from gripping the handles of the bike. She slowed as old fears surfaced. What would they say? She took off for a reason, but it wasn’t because she didn’t love her family.

  In a few more miles, the smell hit her. Smoke.

  Dedra roared to life as she remembered Mariah’s words. The burned down homes couldn’t be her family. It couldn’t.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed the disaster on the other side of the river. Where her family’s two story home once stood, now all that remained was blackened debris. She recognized their brick fireplace dark with soot.

  No. Not her home. Her hands shook and the motorcycle skidded into a nearby bush. She barely registered the pain in her leg, probably just road rash. She untangled herself from the branches and hurried toward the rubble. She had to cross the rushing river and searched for the spot to cross. She soon found the large fallen tree that she’d helped her father carve into a makeshift bridge.

  This couldn’t be happening. Where were they?

  After crossing the bridge, she stopped. Someone was hunched over in the midst of the wreckage, a scavenger picking over the burned remains. Her family’s remains.

  Blood pounded in her ears as she pulled out her knife from a sheath on her belt. She lightened her steps as she approached, scanning the area. Scavengers usually didn’t work alone.

  Her shoe crunched on the burnt debris. The scavenger’s head snapped up, his thick frame tall even for a guy. Becca didn’t think, just barreled toward him, her knife at the ready.

  He spun to the side, deflecting her strike. The knife glanced off his forearm. She spun around and something hard crashed into the side of her head. She stepped back as dark spots danced in her vision. He was bigger and heavier than she’d realized, but she had the rage of a demon. She feigned an attack with her knife and then landed a solid kick to his thigh.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he mumbled, taking a step backward.

  As the black spots finally cleared from her vision, she focused on his voice. She’d heard those words so many times and had watched her best friend get smacked by his mother for swearing.

  It couldn’t be. This guy stood over six feet. His face had filled out and was now covered with a scruffy beard. His dirty blond hair held a familiar wave, though cut short, and those almond-shaped green eyes hadn’t changed at all. There stood Caleb, her best friend from years ago.

  She faltered.

  He notched an arrow in his bow and aimed it directly at her. “Don’t make me shoot you,” he said with a voice, deep and full.

  How did she miss his bow? She didn’t compute the threat in front of her. Soot streaked his face and darkened his hair. His jaw clenched. The mischievous green eyes, she’d loved years ago, now watched her carefully. He must have recognized her, though it had been several years.

  Ever so slowly, she sheathed the knife, raised her hands, and pulled back her dark hair. The tie must have fallen out at some point.

  Despite her shock, her heart warmed at the sight of the friend she’d never thought to see again. “Caleb.”

  His eyes widened. He lowered his bow, and his breath escaped in one long rush. “Rebecca?”

  She shivered with a cold chill, as if stepping over a grave. She had buried that name long ago with the rest of who she used to be.

  “Is that really you?” He stepped closer and reached out, as if she might not be real. Before she could find her voice, he wrapped his large arms around her. She froze in shock. This was Caleb, her Caleb, her
e in front of her, holding her.

  She let his strong arms hold her and, for a brief moment, they took her back to a time when his kiss was all she wished for. Yeah, they had been best friends, plus some.

  It took less than a minute for her to come to her senses. She pulled away. A warm flush covered her face. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was out hunting several miles north when I saw the smoke. They burned out all the homesteads along the creek.” An emptiness haunted his features that she’d never seen before.

  “All of them? Are your parents okay?” She had happy memories of his parents and their kindness and humor.

  He looked down and shook his head. “The Brightons too,” he said, his voice tight.

  She couldn’t feel her legs and struggled to breathe amid the ash. “Are they all dead?”

  The words felt distant as if some other person asked it, some other person whose heart hung on a precipice waiting to shatter.

  His eyes ached with deep pain. “Yes.”

  Tears filled her vision. She dreaded the words she had to say. “My family? I need to find them,” she said, biting back the sorrow and grief that threatened to explode inside of her.

  The odds they survived were low, but if they didn’t, they would need a proper burial before a witch like Mariah found them and used them for dark magic.

  He nodded. Without speaking, he began sorting through the remains of her old life. She tied a handkerchief around her face and joined him, racing against the falling sun as they sorted through the twisted metal. They pieced together some recognizable items—a sewing machine and an old knife, but most were lost, burned beyond recognition or use. The large two-story home was reduced to a skeleton of what had been.

  They approached the last back corner of the house, where her parents’ bedroom had stood. She prayed as her blackened hands dug through the soot.

  “I can do this if you want,” Caleb offered, wiping a rag across his forehead.

  “No. I have to do this.” For my family. She might have abandoned them years ago but not now. Guilt tore at her, like an open wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

  “I know.”

  She glanced at him, holding his gaze. He did know.

  They searched where her parents’ bedroom would have been. Under a twisted metal frame, she found the remains of her mother and father. The blackened masses were skeletal outlines of petrified bone and ash. Caleb knelt down picking up an object. He rubbed the soot off of it, and she recognized the gold misshapen band as her mother’s wedding ring.

  Becca stumbled back onto the grass. Turning away from the fire, she threw up. Tears poured down her face as she emptied her stomach. Pain tore at her heart, shredding it to pieces. They were dead. The words played over and over in her mind.

  She stumbled farther away from the house, wanting a clean breath.

  She couldn’t help the most obvious question that had haunted her all day. Would this have happened if I’d never left? I could have prevented this. Saved them. She’d always been the strongest in the family, hunting with her father regularly.

  Caleb approached from behind and held out a knife— her father’s hunting knife, black and charred. “I thought you might want this.”

  “Thanks.” She hastily wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She needed to pull herself together. “Did you find Elizabeth?” Her heart burned with the memory of her sister.

  “No. No other bodies.”

  “Is it possible we missed her remains? Could she have escaped?” She was scared to let herself believe it. Her chest heaved, heavy with the smoke in the air. He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Why was my dad in the bedroom with my mother? If gangs came or even a fire, they would have gone to the cellar.” Her words came out slow, remembering the emergency shelter behind the house. “The cellar,” she said it again, hoping Elizabeth would have been smart enough to run there.

  Becca rushed to the backyard, stumbling over debris. She knelt on the burnt grass and brushed off a layer of dirt, revealing the metal door. Caleb helped her lift it open. If her family was attacked by gangs or rogue demons, Elizabeth would have been sent to the basement for safety.

  Hurrying down the stairs, she called out for her sister. “Elizabeth. Elizabeth!” There was no reply.

  Her words bounced off the concrete walls lined with canned goods and emergency supplies. Becca grabbed a glass jar of peaches and threw it against the wall. The jar shattered and the smell of peaches filled the room. Peach cobbler. Her mother’s favorite dessert. Becca clamped down on the flood of memories and focused instead on her heavy breath and pounding heart.

  Where’s Elizabeth? Could she be alive?

  “I never knew you had this,” Caleb said, taking stock of a nearby shelf.

  “No one did.” Becca wanted to scream and break everything. All of these supplies didn’t help save her family.

  Leaving Caleb in the basement, she took the stairs up two at a time. Elizabeth had to be here somewhere. Becca stood in the middle of the scorched remains.

  Turning in a circle, she searched, hoping for a clue as to where Elizabeth was and who did this. Soot covered Becca’s shoes and dusted the rest of her body. The debris of her former life caused a sickening in her gut. She coughed repeatedly from the ash in the air.

  She had to move. Get out of this hell. She jumped off what had previously been her front porch and sprinted up the worn path to the well. She welcomed the burning in her legs as she finally reached the top, gasping.

  The bucket, in its usual place, hung off the back side of the pump. The twisted irony that no one even made it to the well to put out the fire, made her want to punch something.

  Filling the bucket with cold water, she poured it over her head. Then she reached for the pump to fill it again, and again. She rubbed the ash, the misery, and the death off her skin and clothes. The cool water numbed her to the core.

  After scrubbing her body clean, she sat down under a nearby tree, exhausted. Her breath calmed with the smell of fresh grass as she watched the sun set amid scattered clouds. She was grateful for the time alone to pull herself together.

  Caleb took his time striding up the hill. His broad, muscular shoulders stretched against his jacket. He had grown in more ways than one since she’d been gone. He had a confident stride now, and a strength in his face. He sat on the ground next to her, with a familiarity that she missed.

  “I searched around the house, but didn’t find any sign of her,” he said. “Do you think she would’ve run?”

  “I don’t know.” She offered him a drink, which he took.

  He finished the water and then stood to get more.

  “Where would she go?” she asked. “Our only living relative was my uncle, and we never knew where he lived.” The thought of Elizabeth running to her uncle sent a cold shiver down Becca’s spine. “It’s a long walk to the city.”

  “You made it.” He held her gaze. His eyes held more questions than she wanted to answer.

  Caleb moved aside and dumped water on his head, shaking out his hair like a wild dog. Streaks of grime covered his muscular arms.

  Turning back to the wreckage of her old home, she rubbed her neck and tried to think of some answers. “The smart thing for Elizabeth to do would be to hide along the river and wait for whoever it was to leave. Then grab food from the basement and wait out the fire. But the basement was untouched. She would have come out if she heard us.”

  Caleb ran a hand through his wet hair. “My mother once told me they had men in a large red truck that use to put fires out for people. Can you imagine that? Now we just have scavengers to pick through the rubble.”

  Becca ignored his comment. Talking about what used to be never did any good. A lot of things were better before The Rising.

  “If she was scared, she could have taken off,” he suggested.

  “Maybe, if she’s alive.” The words hurt to say, but they were a reality.

  The sun descended behind the tre
es, their shadows falling on the remains. From this distance, she could only make out a few things: the stove, fireplace, and a crumpled metal swing that sat in what used to be the front porch. Wooden beams surrounded the house in an odd pattern—almost intentionally separated or pulled back from the house. Standing, Becca headed to the tree.

  “What are you doing?” Caleb asked.

  “I need to get higher. Give me a sec.” She grasped a familiar knot, and hoisted herself up. She winced as her leg, still fresh with road rash, rubbed against the tree. Maneuvering through the dense branches, she scaled the tree. The nearby homesteads were difficult to see, but Becca could make out the blackened remains.

  How could they all burn down without spreading to the forest? And why?

  Turning back around to her house, she noticed certain beams not burnt laying around the home in a distinct pattern, containing the fire. The hairs on her arms stood on end. This was more than looting or gang violence. Slowly the pieces fell into place.

  The witch told her of this destruction earlier. No wonder scavengers hadn’t found it yet. Only wizards could have done this. But what were they after? Maybe this was just a message from the coven, that no one was safe outside city walls.

  But where did that leave Elizabeth? Dead or stolen away? Becca had to find out.

  She needed to go to Mariah’s. The witch had told her about the burnings, and she probably knew more. Not that getting it out of Mariah would be easy. Becca glanced down at Caleb, whose bow hung over his shoulder. She’d told Nikko she would kill that witch, and she just might.

  CHAPTER 4

  Elizabeth watched the scenery flash by the window on the car ride to the city. Gray buildings and dirty bricks looked dismal in the daylight. She tucked her hands under her long skirt.She could hear her mother, scolding her back at their homestead, “A lady doesn’t chew her cuticles.”