Dark Rising Trilogy Page 9

  She nodded. Shower first, everything else could wait until the stink and pain of the past couple of days was washed down the drain. The bathroom was nice, clean, and with soft toilet paper. It took work for her to not like Cynthia.

  Becca stripped and climbed into the shower, hissing as the water hit the burn over her back. After a few minutes, she began to relax, letting the warm water work out the knots in her aching body. After several minutes, she turned off the water and wrapped herself in a thick towel.

  Darion spoke from the other side of the door. “I’ll put the clothes just outside here. Let me treat your burn before you finish dressing.”

  “Okay,” she mumbled and then reached outside the door for clothes. She pulled on a low cut tank top and jeans which were both a bit big on her. She wiped the foggy mirror and met a tired and worn reflection. Nothing she could do about that now.

  Though they’d spent the last several hours together, Becca shivered at the idea of going out there. She tied up her wet hair and, with a long sleeved shirt in one hand, headed outside.

  He sat at the table, which held a plate of white powder and several small bottles.

  “You have a lot of drugs there.” She wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but they reminded her of Nikko’s stash.

  He glanced at her and then averted his gaze. “It’s my job.”

  “Selling drugs for wizards?” she asked.

  “No. Magic. Séances. Readings. Whatever I can do to make money. Short of killing my neighbor’s dog.”

  “It’s good to draw the line somewhere.” The words were met to be a joke, but they fell flat. She didn’t know what to say to Darion. Thank you for the help? I hate that you lied to me for years and hurt me for my uncle’s sake?

  He pulled out another bandage and avoided her gaze, motioning to the chair front of him. “Take a seat.”

  She sat down in the chair, water still dripping down her neck from her wet hair. The thin tank top left her back and neck exposed.

  “I’m sorry about this.” He removed the bandage on her neck. “I didn’t have a choice if I was going to get you out alive.”

  She swallowed the tight knot in her throat and focused on a spot on the tile floor. She was grateful to be out of her uncle’s house, but she struggled with everything that had happened.

  A light sent of lavender filled the air as a sense of relief washed through the wound. His gentle touch sent a familiar warmth through her. While his touch might be familiar, the rest was a mystery. He taped a new bandage over the wound.

  Becca slipped on the long sleeve shirt. She hadn’t forgotten about Caleb. “When is the next festival at Moondance?”

  He hesitated before asking. “Is he worth it?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. She had to get Caleb. He was the closest thing she had left to family. She left him years ago, but not again.

  “I’m not even sure it’s possible. You’ll need money, and we’ll be jumping into a den of snakes.”

  “You don’t understand.” She turned around. The hollowness of what she lost burned inside her chest. “He’s from my past. And the only reason he even got caught was because of me.”

  “Explain.”

  “My uncle Jeremiah hated him for years, for what we did—” Her throat tightened at the thought of that night.

  “Your uncle?” Darion’s dropped the roll of bandages in his hand. “You never told me he was your uncle.”

  She bristled at his accusing tone. “Sorry, I forgot while we were running for our lives.”

  He stood, running his hands through his hair as he paced across the room. “He’s not going to let you just go.”

  “I’m not giving him a choice about it.”

  He turned, worry etching line in his forehead. “You don’t understand. He might have forgotten about a girl, there are several on the black market. But if you’re his niece, he will hunt us down. Going to Moondance will be out of question. He normally doesn’t go there, but he’ll have people there.”

  Fear rose up her spine, but she clamped it down. Jeremiah had haunted her life for long enough. “It doesn’t matter. I have to go. Caleb would do the same for me.”

  He moved toward her, a silent pleading in his face. “If that’s true, if he really cares for you, he wouldn’t want you to do this.”

  “You don’t have to come. You have risked enough so far. You don’t know Caleb or have any reason to help him. I was the one who dragged him into this mess.”

  “I don’t have a reason?” Darion pulled back, his shoulders tightening. “We’re all in this mess, Becca.”

  All of a sudden, the distance between them was too close. A hint of smoke clung to his clothes. The smell had never bothered her before, but now it reminded her of what he was. The room was closing in on her.

  She headed for the door. Despite the aching in her bones, she couldn’t stay in here and fight over what she had to do. “Don’t worry about it, Darion. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

  “You’re just going to leave again?” His words struck.

  Yes, she was good at leaving. Sometimes it hurt less than staying. Becca stomped down the stairs in her old boots. She itched to hit something, anything. She needed to get out of here and find Caleb. Reality, though, like a brick wall, brought more problems than solutions.

  She’d lost all the cash from her last job. Jeremiah made going to her apartment out of the question. And all she’d heard about the Moondance was most humans, like herself, weren’t on the guest list but the menu.

  Darion did mention this place had a bar. Maybe she could strum up a job or information about how to get to Moondance. Only a couple days to find cash meant dangerous work outside of her usual connections. Murder was out, which usually only left jobs where she was the one likely to get killed.

  An employee in the hallway downstairs pointed her in the direction of the bar. She passed through a busy kitchen, mouth watering at the smell of food, and swiped a roll. She almost made it out the door.

  “What are you doing here?” Cynthia stood tall, exuding a confidant beauty.

  “Just needed some air.”

  Her brow creased, as if knowing what getting air usually meant. She glanced at the roll tucked in Becca’s hand.

  “Sorry. I was hungry.”

  “Darion should have fed you. Go to the end of the bar.

  I’ll send food your way.”

  Guilt pricked at her empty stomach. “I can’t pay.” “Of course,” Cynthia said in exasperation. “Don’t worry. I’ll put it on Darion’s tab.”

  “Thanks,” Becca said then, before she could stop herself, added, “How do you know Darion?” Darion wasn’t her boyfriend anymore. She didn’t care what he did, she told herself. But she wanted to know how they were connected and how much she could trust this woman.

  Cynthia laughed. “You don’t want to go there. You might not like what you find.” She caught the arm of a waiter passing by and left in a rush before Becca could say anything else.

  A low murmur of conversations welcomed Becca as she entered the restaurant. Smooth wooden floors held intimate tables, mostly full. It had an earthy smell mixed of cooked meat and alcohol.

  The darkened bar near the back beckoned her. A dim blue light lit a variety of liquor bottles shining like Christmas in September. She didn’t drink often, but tonight—she had plenty of demons to chase away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Muscles,” called the blonde in the cage next to Caleb.

  He stared at her beauty, framed by dingy bars, and wondered if he’d strayed into some kind of sick circus.

  “Do you have anything to smoke?” she asked with slight agitation, pacing in her cage. She was small enough to actually stand up straight.

  “No,” he replied. He sat on the floor, his back to the bars, staring out at the surrounding cages. He forced himself to breathe through his mouth, trying to block out the smell of dirty bodies and waste.

  “Didn’t think so.
You look too clean cut. First-timer for sure.”

  His head snapped up. “You’ve been here more than once?” He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

  “Yeah. Third time in.” She spoke with such bravado, while her hands fidgeted with the hem on her dress.

  “What is this place?”

  “Don’t you know?” She grinned. Her arms spread wide as if showing off a grand hall. “You’re at Moondance. The Magicians’ Market. From talismans and amulets, to potions and people. You can find everything you need for dark magic, all in one place. Even people.”

  “Moondance?” He’d heard rumors of a human market, but never thought he’d be a part of one. A heavy feeling weighed him down.

  “An auction for people.” Bitterness laced her words.

  “Sold to the highest bidder.”

  “Sold?” His breath hitched in this throat.

  “Are you always this slow? It might make it easier for you, come auction time.”

  He stared at his empty hands, contemplating his escape. He had to get out. Find Rebecca. A wave of heat washed over him as he tightened his hands. “How do we get out?”

  “You met our beautiful captor.” Ice entered her voice.

  “We don’t.”

  He remembered the lithe and graceful demon, whose voice drove spikes into his brain. He didn’t know how to get around it. “What about after? There has to be a way. You did it? How did you get out?”

  She barked a laugh. “You think I escaped? My owners got tired of me and are trading me in. Upgrading, if you will.”

  She stood and approached the front of the cage, bare feet slapping the concrete floor. The dress, tight and short, showed off thin legs scattered with scratches and bruises. Despite it all, the sway to her hips held confidence and allure. Her beauty was a weapon, one nicely honed.

  His thoughts traveled to Rebecca, whose natural beauty lingered in his dreams. He prayed she was all right. He had to get out of here.

  He turned back to the only person that could give him any information. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Candy.”

  “Really?” He doubted any parent was that cruel.

  She bit her lower lip. “How about Cinnamon?”

  His disbelief must have shown.

  “Are you more of a Tiffany type of guy? Or Emily?

  Meredith?”

  “I’m Caleb,” he interrupted, frustration clipping his words short. “I’m not sure what game you’re playing, but I have to get out of here.”

  “Look here, muscles.” Her fingers with their chipped red nails gripped the bars. She spoke slowly, as if to a child. “You can only wish they’ll kill you here. The wizards know how to restrain people. They’ve been practicing on demons for years. See that kid over there?”

  He craned his neck to look down the row she pointed. It took only a second to see him—a boy, no older than fourteen, laying on his side. Even from his cage, Caleb could see thin shoulder blades jutting through the threadbare jacket.

  “He’s a wizard. Or at least some form of one. So he’ll be unconscious till auction time. They don’t take chances. They have people here who read powers and plan accordingly. Our kind, Mundanes, we’re no threat. Just regular folk, with a little fire in them. Easily put out.”

  “I won’t give in that easy.” Unsure whether to pity her or shake her, he banged his fist on the gritty floor.

  “Like I said, I’ve been to this pony show before.” She slumped down against the bars. Her dress hiked higher, revealing most of her thigh.

  Caleb turned his head, giving her privacy, even if she didn’t care to have it.

  “Best to keep your head down,” she said. “Maybe a poor old widow will want some eye-candy. Too strong, and you’ll be demon fodder.”

  He didn’t reply. His breath hissed out between clenched teeth. He’d spent his life strong and able. His thoughts traveled to his father, quiet and unyielding, and his mother, feisty, yet sweet. Their absence left a pain in his chest he could never replace. But he wouldn’t disgrace them.

  He had to find a way out, locate Rebecca, and flee. Go south. His mother always told stories about her relatives down south. People who played on white sandy beaches. He’d never seen a beach before. He imagined this other world, one with water that never ended.

  He slowly uncurled his hands. He needed to think, not rage. He wasn’t ready to play dead just yet.

  Darion took a long shower, scrubbing his skin as if he could wash away his frustrations currently called Becca. Did he make the right choice, letting her leave? A gnawing sensation grew in his stomach, thinking of her alone in the magicians’ district. He didn’t think she would go far, but he never knew with Becca.

  Even if he’d made her stay, he couldn’t force her to let him help. Her stubbornness often overruled logic. Why couldn’t she see, that he would be willing to go to hell and back to make things right? To atone for what he did, the lies he told.

  There might not be a chance for a future with her. Lying had destroyed that when she found out the truth about his magic. But he could try to make it right.

  He couldn’t help but care about Becca, even if she didn’t return the feeling. She reminded him of another life, another way to live, outside city walls and coven influence. He admired her strength and unselfishness in searching for her friend, even if jealousy reared its ugly head.

  Climbing out of the shower, he noticed Becca’s torn shirt on the floor. He questioned his decision again of letting her go so easily.

  In the tall dresser, he grabbed the spare set of clothes he kept there. On the occasions he stayed here, he helped Cynthia with the business and, in return, received free room and board. The business arrangement suited both parties. Cynthia and Darion had a brief history together, but both decided they would have a longer relationship in the future if they were only friends.

  Dressed, he combed his fingers through his wet hair. On the table, warm food awaited him. “Thank you, Cynthia,” he said aloud to an empty room. She was a life saver.

  He brushed his hair out of his eyes and devoured a small steak with mashed potatoes—his favorite. After he ate, he distracted himself by organizing his supplies, and reorganizing them. He even tried to read an old paperback he found in the closet. After reading the first page three times, he set it down.

  He was determined not to go after Becca. He’d quit that chase. Yet, the ulcer growing in his stomach was because of her.

  Someone stumbled outside their room.

  “I can take care of myself,” Becca said loudly out in the hall.

  He swore. That was how things were. He cursed when she was here and cursed when she wasn’t. “Just doing my job,” replied a man’s voice.

  Darion opened the door. One of Cynthia’s employee’s, Greg, was escorting Becca to their room. “Cynthia said I could leave her with you.”

  Darion couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Thanks.”

  Greg headed off, while Becca’s brow creased in indignation. “I was doing just fine, on my own, ya know?” A wave of alcohol floated on her breath.

  Darion held the door open for her. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I even had a couple jobs lined up.” She sat on the bed and started pulling at her boots.

  “You probably shouldn’t be looking for work while drunk.” He owed Cynthia for watching out for her downstairs.

  “I’m not drunk.” She glared at him, daring him to challenge it. She continued tugging at the laces on her boots, creating a knotted mess.

  Sitting down next to her, he lifted her boots onto his lap. She might not be drunk, but totally sober Becca knew how to untie her boots.

  “I’m not really drunk.” A softer edge entered her voice, a dangerous edge.

  He glimpsed at her face, smiling for the first time since he found her. Returning to the boots, he worked on the laces. She leaned forward and began playing with his hair. A slight tingling sensation followed her touch.

&nbs
p; “I love your hair.” She let her hand trail down his cheek and onto his arm.

  He focused on the boot, pulled one off, and worked on the other.

  Her hand traveled down his neck. “I missed you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, ready to cut the damn laces off.

  “Yeah, I did. But every time I almost made it out my door, I’d remembered what a lying bastard you are.”

  “That sounds more like you.” He pulled the other shoe off and set it on the floor. “You should rest.”

  As he reached up to pull down the comforter, her hands locked around the back of his neck, pulling him down. With his hands on either side of her, he barely prevented himself from collapsing against her. He studied her soft lips and sincere gaze. Becca always held a soft strength in her features that amazed him—a natural beauty he never got tired of. Was this a drunken impulse, or was there some part of Becca that had moved beyond his past mistakes?

  “What are you doing, Becca?” he asked, wary of breaking whatever this moment was.

  “What I want.” Her words were clear as she stared straight at him.

  He chuckled, imagining a completely sober Becca wanting to slap this girl silly. Becca was always so reserved, so private. It had taken him months before she would open up to him this easily.

  She pushed up against him. A shudder went through his body, threatening to unravel his self-control. Becca might just be the end of him.

  He’d missed her. As much as he hated to admit it, he craved her touch. Her hand grazed the skin under his shirt, and then her nails dragged down his stomach. His muscles tightened, and willpower crumbled.

  “Damn you, Becca,” he mumbled, falling onto her warm body.

  He brushed her lips, soft and light. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kisses with greater force. A current passed between them that lit him with a desire that he’d repressed.

  His hand trailed down her neck, over her shoulder. Tightening his hold, he wrapped his arm around her waist, not ever wanting to let her go. He cared for Becca more than he’d ever admitted and couldn’t stand for her to leave again.