Dark Rising Trilogy Page 7

  “You took your time, Darion. He isn’t going to be happy,” the housekeeper said in a shrill voice that clawed at his brain like nails on a chalkboard.

  He nodded, not trusting himself to keep his tongue in check.

  “Go straight up. He’s waiting.”

  He climbed the stairs, feet heavy, dreading the task ahead of him. Kip stood outside the door, clothes wet from the rain, waiting for him. His closely shaved head and tattooed arms made his bark definitely worse than his bite.

  “What’s going on? Been playing in the rain?” Darion asked looking at Kip’s drenched clothes and muddy boots.

  “Had to deliver a boy to the Moondance Festival. The dude was big. Dropped him like three times.” Kip chuckled at himself.

  Darion wished he hadn’t asked. “What does Jeremiah need me for today?”

  “Same as last time.”

  “What’s with these girls?”

  Kip’s lips pulled into a smile. “Not sure. But this one’s feisty.”

  “Want me to burn your tats off next?” Darion doubted this big guy could keep it together any better than these girls.

  Kip broke into laughter. “You’d have to catch me first.”

  A tingle of magic pulsed from inside the room. Darion rubbed his arms, cold under his damp coat.

  “Better head in,” Kip said, stepping to the side.

  Darion’s stomach sank, though he kept his features smooth. Part of the job, he reminded himself. A few more jobs like this and he would be out of here.

  A heavy silence filled the room as Jeremiah’s word sank in. Dead? Becca struggled to breathe. A heavy pressure crushed her chest. Elizabeth couldn’t be dead. That meant Caleb was lost for nothing.

  “How?” she asked, straining to keep her voice under control.

  “She was injured in the fire. I did my best to save her.”

  How could she believe him? His whole life he spewed out lies to her family. But why lie about this? Becca was trapped and at his mercy.

  She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t. The one thing she’d needed to do to make up for the past, for running out on her family years ago and she failed. She failed.

  She pressed her head against the mattress, squeezed her eyes tight, and struggled to keep all the pieces of herself together. She crammed the tears, the pain, and the memories back into that tight black box where she had hid so much.

  “You killed them.” It didn’t matter if he threw the match or not, he let this happen. “Your kind killed them all.”

  “I didn’t start the fires. I tried to save them.”

  She laughed, a sick cackle. It sounded as if she was losing her mind. Maybe she was. “And I’m supposed to believe you? Tied to this bed?”

  “You took off, abandoning your family. I couldn’t take that chance. I can’t have you roaming free here until I remove your Hand of Mary tattoo. Then I can ensure your safety.”

  “My safety?” She thought he had to be high or something. “You have a Soultorn here. You’re a wizard. You’re not concerned about my safety.”

  “I looked for you for over a year. However my sister chose to raise you, wizards are not the problem. They’re the solution to what ails mankind.”

  She glared at him. He couldn’t be serious. Her family was dead, and he really thought she was going to side with him. He might have forgotten what happened in the barn that night. She hadn’t. Her shame and regret grew into something dark and angry. Her nails dug into her palms, and she ached to claw herself out of this room.

  “He’s here,” the Soultorn said in a deep voice.

  Jeremiah nodded to the demon. The door opened and someone entered. “I don’t like to be kept waiting,” Jeremiah scolded and went to the door.

  “I came as soon as I could,” the man replied.

  Her stomach dropped. The familiar voice struck Becca like a cold glass of water. She whipped her head to the side. It was Darion.

  She’d been looking for him, hoping he could provide a clue to what happened to her family. Now he stood in her uncle’s house a black bag under one arm. Whatever Darion claimed when they were dating, he obviously worked with the devil himself.

  Darion’s face went slack as he saw her, an incredulous look frozen on his face. He hadn’t changed much. His black hair had a messy look to it, as it was almost long enough to get in his eyes. Rough stubble now covered his jaw, and those brown eyes hurt to look at.

  “Get to work.” Jeremiah headed to the door to talk to the Soultorn.

  Darion approached her with hesitation in his step, like one would a wounded animal. “How?” he silently mouthed to her

  “Help me.” It came out as a whisper, a quiet pleading.

  Darion was a good guy. He might be a liar, but he couldn’t do this to her. Could he? He once claimed to love her. That couldn’t be for nothing.

  “What’s the hold up?” Jeremiah returned, standing next to Darion.

  “Nothing, sir.” All surprise had vanished from Darion’s face. The familiar poker face showed no emotion. “I can take care of this if you have work to attend to.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “This one can be a handful. I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause you trouble.”

  Darion slowly swallowed, but didn’t object.

  Did that mean he was going through with it? She didn’t dare let her uncle realize she knew Darion. As much as she loathed him at the moment, Darion was her only chance out of this thing.

  “Please,” she pleaded to both men as they approached.

  Jeremiah placed a hand on her leg, and, with a word, a sick languid feeling enveloped her body. She waited for Darion. Any second he would attack Jeremiah, knock him out, and use his magic to save her.

  Instead, Darion pulled up a stool and moved her hair out of the way, exposing her tattoo. Her breath came in short gasps. Her pleas for them to stop were rejected, and her body ignored her requests. She was helpless. Darion was going to do it.

  “Begin,” her uncle commanded.

  A light powder fell on her neck, cold at first. Then it grew warm, slowly building to a searing pain. She clawed at the sheet on the mattress and clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. Darion spoke in a foreign tongue, and the agony struck her to the core.

  A scream escaped her lips, and she bit down on the bedding. Silent tears spilled down her face. Darion wasn’t going to be her savior. Not after she’d walked out on him almost a year ago.

  She wasn’t sure what hurt more, the flame burning on her neck, or Darion, who she’d loved at one time, betraying her so easily.

  The fragile ice that held her up shattered. She lost her only protection against magic. Her family was dead, and who knew what happened to Caleb. As she tumbled into the dark waters of pain and grief, she wished she could join her lost loved ones.

  Chapter Twelve

  She needs something for the pain,” Darion struggled to keep his façade in check. “She’s twitching.”

  Jeremiah kept a firm hand on her ankle. “It’s fine. She’s already calmer.”

  The tattoo sizzled under Darion’s flame. He could feel the pulse of Jeremiah’s power on Becca. Darion remembered to relax his hands. He needed to keep his anger in check if he was going to get her out of this alive.

  He wanted to push this flame onto Jeremiah, burn him alive where he stood, but Darion would never survive the level-five demon looming in the doorway. And if Jeremiah discovered the truth between Becca and him, things would only worsen for both of them. He needed to wait. Jeremiah wouldn’t be at her bedside forever.

  Darion placed ointment around the tattoo to contain the fire. The blue flames gradually died and a light sulfuric smell permeated the room. Her shoulders were still tense as the last remains of ink began to fade.

  He lightly pushed at the flames, smothering them. He had dreamed of touching Becca’s skin again, but never like this. Never hurting her. He had done that enough already, pretending he wasn’t a magician at the bidding of the coven.
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  She finally relaxed against his touch. Her eyes were closed, but her pulse was steady. Losing consciousness would be blessing for her at this point.

  He’d questioned Becca about her tattoo before, on a hot summer day. She’d claimed not to know much about it. She’d never talked about her past much, though. He’d assumed she had rich or connected parents before coming to the city.

  “What are you doing with the girl?” he asked, before thinking.

  “What concern is it of yours?” Jeremiah snarled.

  “Nothing,” Darion said too fast. “Just wondering if she needs a bandage, or if she’ll stay on her stomach.” There was no nurse maid or cold rag awaiting Becca like with the other girl.

  “Finish your work and bandage her. Kip will be outside with your money.” Jeremiah headed out the door without a second glance.

  “I’m almost done,” he said to Becca, grateful to finally be alone with her. He applied a compress of aloe and lavender to the wound before bandaging it. It wasn’t the first time he wished he had more knowledge of healing.

  She didn’t stir. Her eyes were closed, but he doubted she slept. Her face held too much tension. He had missed that freckled nose, and her lips, soft and pink.

  He finished placing the bandage on her skin. He couldn’t leave her here. Not to this fate. Taking her away, meant defying Jeremiah, a powerful member of the coven. He wouldn’t let Darion get away with it. Darion’s only choices would be to leave the city or beg for mercy from Ryma.

  He couldn’t think about the repercussions. Not with Becca so close to him. He brushed back a stray hair from her face. Her eyes opened, confused and frantic, scanning her surroundings. He wanted to comfort her, to touch her and tell her it would be all right. But he wasn’t sure of that himself.

  She wet her lips and finally focused in on Darion. “I’m going to kill you.”

  Anger boiled inside of Becca, and she itched to claw that sympathetic smile off Darion’s face. He looked concerned. He didn’t have the right.

  “You can kill me once we get out of here,” he offered.

  Could she believe him? “Untie me” she demanded. Her back burned like hell, her world had crumpled around her, and she wanted to kill him.

  He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the consequences, then began to untie her. Blinking back the tears, she forced herself to focus. She had to get out of here. She wouldn’t stay put to be at her uncle’s command. Pulling off the last of the ropes, her hands shaking hard, she fisted one and then swung at Darion.

  He grabbed her hand, easily blocking her punch. Something in the air, slowed her movements, made it hard to think. Maybe the salts?

  “Let go,” she ordered. “I’m leaving.”

  “Not like this,” Darion pleaded. “I’ll get you out of here. Just trust me.”

  She almost laughed. “Trust you? You’re kidding right? You lie about being a magician. Then you tie me to a bed and burn me.” Her voice cracked. Rage threatened to break out. “Did you burn down my parents’ house, too?”

  Confusion flashed in his eyes. He reached out to her. “I didn’t burn anyone’s house down.”

  She pulled back.

  “I couldn’t fight Jeremiah. He would have killed me and you would still be here. I needed him to leave. Now we have a chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you really have to ask?”

  She wanted to believe him. She had wanted to trust him for months. But he lied. Still, although she’d vowed to never let him close again, he was her only chance to escape.

  She took a deep breath, trying to collect all the scattered pieces of herself. She had to pull it together if she was to be free and find Caleb. “Do you know what happened to Caleb?”

  “Caleb?”

  “A friend.” She rubbed her wrists gently. Rope burns circled both of them. “I’m not leaving without him.”

  “Big guy?” he asked. “I think one of Jeremiah’s guys dropped him off for auction at Moondance.”

  “The market. Damn.” She turned away and placed a fisted hand on her forehead. It was another hit, threatening to bring her down. Moondance was a human market, where bodies dead and alive were sold to the highest bidder for dark magic. Its location was unknown to most Mundanes like herself. She didn’t have a clue how to get there. She noticed her jacket on the desk and shrugged it on. They needed to get out of here.

  “I see you kept it,” Darion said.

  Heat raced to her face. He’d given her the jacket for her birthday last year. “It’s a good jacket.” She wished the words didn’t sound so lame.

  “True,” Darion agreed.

  Her fist curled, ready to smack the pleasant look off his face. She needed to get out of here first. There was a reason Jeremiah wanted her tattoo off. “Let’s go.”

  He headed toward the door, while buttoning up his jacket. “Follow me.”

  “Are we going to just stroll out?”

  He attempted a smile, probably meant to be reassuring. “A long as Jeremiah is busy. We have a chance.”

  She scowled.

  He opened the door. A guard stood there just beginning to turn around. Darion grabbed the guard’s neck and spoke a few words. A warm breeze blew into the room, and the guard collapsed. Darion pulled him into the room with some effort. The man had to weigh at least twice as much as Becca.

  “That was…” She was at a loss for words. She’d never seen him use magic before. A tingle of fear, or maybe amazement, raised the hair on her arms.

  “He’s more brawn than brains, or magic really. The rest of the household won’t be so weak.” Darion picked up some coins from the man’s hand. “My payment.”

  Becca held out her hand. She wasn’t so quick to forget the past hour of her life. Her neck still ached fiercely. “Then, I guess it really belongs to me. Since without my tattoo, you wouldn’t have had a job to perform.”

  He dropped the money into her hand. “If I had any other option of getting you out alive, I would have taken it.”

  Logically, it might have made sense, but she wasn’t ready to accept any apologies yet. The rope burns were still visible on her wrists.

  They didn’t run into anyone as they walked down the hall. Her head slowly cleared but her steps remained cautious. She searched the walls for any clues as to where they were at. Did Jeremiah live here? She’d detested Jeremiah ever since she left home years ago, but she never suspected magic ran in his veins.

  They hurried down the large staircase with an antiquated chandelier hanging from the ceiling. She followed Darion and wondered how he fit into this puzzle with her uncle. It made her sick to think of a connection between the two of them.

  They turned a corner and ran into a young serving girl. Before she could speak, Darion covered her mouth and grabbed her from behind. He whispered into the girl’s ear. It might have been mistaken for an intimate embrace, but soon the girl’s legs collapsed under her, and Darion carefully laid her on the ground.

  “We need to hurry,” he said, turning another corner.

  “There should only be one guard on duty out this way. Hopefully, he’s distracted.”

  Becca couldn’t believe their escape plan included hoping someone had a short attention span.

  They turned into a large kitchen. Pots, bowls, and cutting boards littered the counters as breakfast was in full swing. Behind them a wooden pantry door creaked open.

  “Darion, you better not be begging for scraps this morning. You know how I hate—”

  He slammed a black skillet against her head. She fell to the floor, her faded flower dress in a crumpled heap.

  “Beating up old ladies?” Becca asked. This woman would have stopped them, but seeing her gray hair and wrinkled face made guilt prick at Becca. “Why not the same as the other girl?”

  “She’s too strong and well protected against magic.” He reached down and yanked an amulet from her neck, tossing it to Becca. “She doesn’t deserve your sympathy. She’s gutted Mundanes sm
aller than you.”

  The grim twist of his mouth told her, he was serious. This granny was as dangerous as anyone else, Becca reminded herself. All magicians were, including the one in front of her.

  He grabbed a kitchen towel and rummaged through a couple drawers. She turned to the counter. Next to an onion was a carving knife. She picked it up, feeling the balancing point in her hand.

  “You always liked your knives,” he whispered over her shoulder, his breath tickling her neck.

  “We can’t all be bloody pyros, can we?” He should feel lucky she wasn’t using the knife on him.

  He glanced at the knife, as if the same thought had crossed his mind. Then, turning his head, he peered out the back kitchen window. “If anything happens, run for the woods. We’re in the north part of the city, the coven’s estates. Go south and you should see the city by nightfall.” “Okay.”

  She ignored the snippet of guilt in her gut. She’d question Darion’s loyalty, and now he was putting her safety first. Jeremiah would make him pay for this. “Make sure you get out too.”

  “I will,” he said, heading to the back door. “Stay behind me until I grab the guard then run.”

  She nodded and gripped the knife. She was a bit put off that he found her so weak in a fight. The pain on her neck reminded her she didn’t have the same protection she once had. Her pulse picked up, her body finally waking up from whatever magic Jeremiah used on her.

  Outside, a gray drizzling sky hung heavy. She wondered if it would interfere with Darion’s magic. Rain couldn’t be good for a pyro.

  A guard, a good two hundred yards from the house, didn’t notice them on the porch at first. He leaned against a large tree, cigarette in hand, with his back to them. Farther past the guard, dense trees filled a beautiful forest. Only the dark haired guard, and who knew what other magic, stood in their way.

  Darion had a casual gait as he headed toward the guard. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Becca’s gut. Darion stayed in front of her, blocking the guard from her view. He stepped off the back porch, leaves crunching underfoot.