Dark Spell

by Danielle Rose

  I exhale sharply and replay the spell in my mind. Using an ancient curse, the witches risked dark magic to bind Mamá’s soul to mine. Based on their altar offerings, they used the power of the sun to harness enough energy to link us. In doing so, they have broken the sacred oath we follow to respect and cherish the earth.

  They chastise me for my decision to become a vampire, as if I had another option on my deathbed. But in that same breath, they too broke a promise when they performed that spell. The witches have never been anything more than hypocrites.

  “How are you feeling?” Jasik asks, breaking my concentration.

  I shrug, not looking at him. I know he wants honesty, but can he handle my truth? I am scared and angry and unsure of my future. I do not know what it means to be linked to a witch, and the only person with the ability to unveil the truth has no intention of aiding me now.

  I am not even sure if she is alive.

  I freeze, a cold ache nestling deep into my bones.

  If Mamá dies and we are linked, will I die too?

  “Ava?” Malik says.

  I blink away the picture being drawn in my mind to glance at him. He looks eerily similar to his younger brother, with only minor differences. Both are tall and muscular, but Malik has a much bulkier frame. Jasik is leanly muscled, making him look much younger than his older brother, even though I am sure they are only a few years apart.

  “Huh? What?” I ask.

  I try to see the vampires, but all I see is a vision of myself dying. But I do not die a mortal death. Instead, my heart implodes, my body combusting into a million tiny grains of ash and dust. In one single moment, everything that I am is gone. I leave nothing behind—no traces, no memories of the life I lived.

  I am shaking, eyes lost in a haze of things that have not even happened yet, things that might never happen. My vision blurs, and I do not sense the vampire who comes to my side. I feel an arm wrap around me, pulling me tightly, and then I feel another. Cocooned between the two vampires, I relinquish my hold on my strength and burrow my face into an unknown chest.

  Finally, I release my pain, my agony, my fear, and my doubts. I do not know how long we stand like this, but by the time I have finished, I am utterly exhausted. My eyelids are heavy, my legs weak, and I worry I cannot finish the hike to Amicia’s nest. So I rely on the vampires’ strength to find my way home.

  Every time I find my way back here, I am amazed by the manor’s beauty. The forest breaks into a small clearing, and I stumble upon the vampire nest I never knew existed in Darkhaven. Amicia and her vampires have resided here for years, all while I was patrolling these very woods.

  The manor is three stories tall with breathtaking Victorian architecture. It houses startling overhangs, sharp edges, and rows of stained-glass windows. Smiling, I stare at it from the tree line.

  Finally, I made it home. I escaped, and I relish in the thought that I will never experience the wrath of the witches ever again.

  The moment I come face-to-face with the short fence that encloses the manor, I am awash with joy. There is something about this house that makes me feel safe. There is an aura to it. If this house could talk, it would spill endless secrets about the goings-on over the years. It has borne witness to horrific acts of violence and vengeance, but it has also offered security and warmth to souls lost after death.

  The surrounding fence is formed by slabs of iron wrought together. Each point of the daggers ends in two sharp slabs of metal that form tiny crosses. My gaze trails the fence as I begin my descent into their world, into the world I was cast out of.

  I reach for my metal cross, curling my palm around the peaks. The moment my skin comes into contact with the religious relic, nothing happens. I do not burn. I do not feel safer or protected by what this symbol represents. I just feel…empty. I feel nothing at all.

  I sigh and release the cross. Letting my arms dangle at my sides, I take another step forward. The moment I pass the threshold, I feel at ease. I shield my eyes from the moon’s bright rays and search for the weather vane. Comprised of a sharp, startling spear, it sits prominently at the forefront of the manor’s highest peak.

  “Everything okay?” Jasik asks.

  Tearing my gaze from that which I seek, I glance at him and frown.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You just…seem different,” Jasik says.

  I try to smile, but I know it does not reach my eyes. The truth is, I am different. The only thing I have to hold on to right now is that I am experiencing this place all over again. As if I have never visited before, I am starstruck by the manor’s beauty. I suppose after being held hostage and nearly murdered, my vision of life has changed.

  I do not respond to his accusation as I walk the cobblestone path toward the manor. The overgrown grass is dead now. It crunches beneath my boots as I make my way closer to what awaits inside. The weeds that once ran rampant through the yard are dried into bushy heaps of dead brush. In the spring, when the warmth returns, they will be rejuvenated, becoming uncontrollable once again.

  I allow the hand railings to guide me up the steps. Slowly, I ascend, with the vampires trailing closely behind me.

  Perched on the wraparound porch is the same gargoyle I have seen for months now. Over the course of my time with the vampires, the two gargoyles I first encountered have been moved. When I first arrived, they were squatted on either side of the cobblestone walkway that leads visitors directly to the front door. Eventually, one was moved to the back door and the other was placed at the top stair.

  Made of hard stone that has been tainted a dark-gray color over years of elemental exposure, the gargoyle is a hellish creature. It looks like a demon who might stand at the gates of hell, and the irony of this being protecting the vampires is not lost on me. I smile when I see him, my fingertips already tingling at the thought of touching his smooth head.

  I reach for him, lightly grazing his smooth scalp. Sometimes, I wish he could come alive, but then I think, for all I know, he does. Jasik once told me gargoyles protect vampires during times when they are weakened. These daylight saviors ensure no one invades our home when we slumber, and if that is true, then they do come alive. When bathed in sunlight, they can finally stretch their wings and soar. Only at night, when we are at our strongest, do they finally rest.

  When I reach the front door, I grasp the knob. Halting, I close my eyes and listen. I place my other palm flat against the stained-glass window and wait for motion inside. I hear nothing. I feel nothing. I sense nothing. There is only silence and darkness and a hollow void where once lived a vibrant, powerful soul.

  I sigh, twist the knob, and walk into the foyer.

  The house is dark. When the vampires close the door behind me, I jump at the sound, spinning on my heels to meet a very confused Malik. Jasik is also eyeing me curiously, and I wonder how I must look to them. Suddenly hyperaware that I am basically a human in the midst of a vampire nest, a knot forms in my chest. It takes everything I have to push it down and smile at my friends.

  “Ava?”

  A familiar voice calls to me.

  Holland.

  I spin to see him. He is rushing toward me. The drink he is holding is sloshing around his mug, spilling over the sides. By the time he reaches me, it is almost gone, and the trail of dark-brown liquid left in his wake pools on the hardwood floors.

  When he is close enough to see me in the streams of moonlight illuminating the manor, he drops his mug completely. It crashes to the ground, smashing into several pieces. He does not move, his gaze scanning, assessing every inch of my face.

  “Oh, Ava…” Holland whispers.

  He reaches for me. Ever so lightly, his fingertips graze my cheekbones, and I wince when they graze my wound. I remember the awful moment Jasik nearly died right before my eyes. The witch used air magic, molding it into a fierce dagger that penetrated his torso. When it burrowed completely through his flesh, it shot through the air, slicing my cheek in the process.<
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  I close my eyes, remembering each harrowing second of the attack. I touch the wound with my fingers, not daring to stray too close. Still, a jolt of terror rises in my chest—but not because of what happened. Because of the startling truth, because of what this wound represents.

  I did not heal.

  “What did they do to you?” Holland asks. His voice is a hush, but in the silent manor, his words echo all around me, growing louder with each passing second.

  Unable to face the darkness any longer, I stare into Holland’s brown eyes. His skin is pale and sunken. His eyes outlined by deep divots, betraying his many sleepless nights since he arrived at the manor. He came to aid me many moons ago, and he simply never left. He spends his days researching my condition, and he spends his nights training with me. In all that time, I never wondered how—or when—he finds time for himself.

  His hair is a floppy, tangled mess. He must catch me staring at it, because he runs a hand through his soft curls, attempting to smooth their frizzy edges. He does not succeed.

  I pull him into a tight embrace, never feeling quite so emotional before. I was eager to escape the witches, and in doing so, I claimed a vampire nest as my home. The thought that this might not be the safest place for a newly mortal creature did not occur to me. But with Holland here, I remember that these vampires have no interest in hurting the living. They just want to be, to exist in peace. I am overrun with guilt as I hold on to Holland, squeezing him until he grunts.

  By the time I release him, I realize we are not alone. Amicia is standing beside me, her crimson eyes sparkling as she stares at me. Her shiny black hair is sleek and brushed back. Her lacy gown hides her smooth dark skin. When she smiles, she bares two fangs. I stare at them as I smile back at her.

  Silently, I apologize for everything I have put her through. During a time in my life when I was ousted by my very family, she took me in. And I have been nothing but a problem ever since.

  “Is it…okay if I stay here?” I ask her.

  She sighs. “Oh, Ava. I expect nothing else.”

  Her admission relieves my anxiety, but the truth of my situation is that this is only the beginning. I have a lot of explaining to do, and I have a lot of research ahead of me. I might have been lost before, but now I have no idea where to start. How do I find a book on ancient spells? How do I find information on cursing a creature I never knew existed?

  “Where are the others? Hikari? Jeremiah?” Amicia asks. Her gaze diverts from me to the vampires behind me, and I cower.

  “We were separated,” Malik explains. “They…”

  Amicia stiffens as Malik trails off. Her face pales, and her jaw clenches. I see the fear in her eyes, but in a blink, it is gone. Her worry over her vampires is replaced by something I know all too well.

  Rage.

  If her vampires do not return home safely, I can assume Amicia will bring her anger to the witches, and she will stop at nothing to enact her revenge.

  “Tell me everything,” she says.

  Her voice is strained. Her words are needle sharp, and they dig their way into my muscles. I shake away the feeling, but it never truly leaves me. Amicia has always had a way about her. She is strong, defiant, and unusually patient with me. If the others do not make it back, she will ask me to make one final choice, and I will. I will avenge our fallen even if it means laying down my own life. I owe them that.

  We find our way into the adjoining parlor while Malik explains the events that led us to this moment. Amicia does not speak as she silently absorbs every detail Malik recites. I sense her ever-growing fury, and I keep my gaze averted from hers.

  Instead, I focus on Holland, who is paler than usual. He listens on, and each passing second, he visibly grows sicker. I remind myself that Jeremiah is his ex-boyfriend, and the two have made it clear they still harbor feelings for each other. Their breakup was over a disagreement—probably something trivial—and they never made amends. Now, he might not get the chance.

  I know how that feels. That same agony washed over me when I thought Liv was taken by a rogue vampire. I blamed myself, for I did not believe she would have been in the crosshairs of a rogue vampire if not for my constant nagging. I wanted her to become a strong fire witch, regardless of the costs. I did not know she would become a pawn in my mother’s twisted games.

  I look away from Holland, not able to bear the truth of his pain any longer. I have only been gone for a day, and I did not believe the manor to have changed in that short amount of time, but it has. It is as if I see everything with new eyes. I do not smell the drying pages on the first-edition books that line the walls. I do not feel the heat of the fire as it roars in the fireplace. I do not see the layer of dust coating the game of chess Malik and Jasik refuse to finish. The house feels as dank and empty as my soul.

  “Ava?” Amicia says.

  “Hmm,” I say.

  I glance at the vampires, noticing everyone is looking at me with curious gazes. Once again, I was lost in thought, too busy worrying about my own problems to care about the chaos tearing apart Amicia’s nest. I hate what I have become. What happened to that selfless girl? Where did she go?

  “What did you say?” I ask, embarrassed.

  “Do you know anything about this spell?” Amicia asks.

  I shake my head, defeated.

  “Holland?” Amicia says.

  He is silent for a moment. His eyes are glossy, distant as he searches the depths of his mind. I pray he will uncover some hidden meaning, some unconventional truth to what has happened to me. Maybe together we can defeat the witches for good.

  Amicia clears her throat, and Holland blinks away his memories.

  “No, I do not know this spell, but it sounds a lot like the black arts,” Holland says.

  My breath catches, and I sit in silence until my lungs burn. When I cannot take it anymore, I gasp for breath, quickly catching the attention of everyone in the room. But I do not move. I do not speak. I am focused solely on Holland’s words, praying he has the knowledge to help me, for I know nothing about black magic.

  “Can you reverse it?” Amicia asks.

  He glances at his hands, fidgeting with his cuticles. It seems like hours—days even—pass before he finally looks up at me. When he does, I want him to look away. I want to smack the darkness from his eyes and replace it with the embers still burning within my soul. Mamá’s spell might have extinguished my fire, but it is still there. It still flickers in the dank depths, waiting for one final burst of air to light it aflame once again.

  “I am sorry, Ava, but black magic…” Holland says, shaking his head. He swallows hard, and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

  “What are you saying?” Jasik asks. “What does this mean for her?”

  Holland exhales sharply. “Black magic is almost always irreversible.”

  Irreversible. The word sinks into me, like a dagger to my belly. It roots itself deeply, and I know it will never wiggle free.

  “How can that be?” Amicia asks.

  “Magic comes from the earth, and in order to do something truly dark, there is a cost,” Holland explains. “Witches cannot simply snap their fingers and make their wishes become reality. We have limits.”

  “And in order to bypass these limits, a witch might turn to black magic?” Malik asks.

  “Yes, but there is always a cost,” Holland says.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Amicia says. “We do not want this magic at the hands of just anyone. Only those willing to bear the burden of casting such dark magic will dare to delve into these arts.”

  “Exactly, and unfortunately, once the spell is performed and the cost is paid, there is no going back,” Holland says, voice dark.

  “How can we be so sure this spell has a cost?” Jasik asks, ever hopeful.

  “There is always a cost, Jasik,” Holland says. “Sometimes, it is as heinous as a life for a life. Every spell is different. There is no telling what cost the witches paid to
perform such a dark spell.”

  “But this cost, the witches must bear it?” Malik asks.

  I understand his unspoken meaning. If those who perform the dark spell are the ones who bear the greatest cost, then we have nothing to fear. We did not cast black magic, so Malik assumes we should be safe. But I know better, because I know something the vampires do not know.

  “Yes, the witches will bear the brunt of it,” Holland says.

  “That is good news, then,” Malik says. “Ava should be okay.”

  I do not look at them. I do not admit what happened, because I cannot bear to see the truth of it flash before their eyes.

  Holland’s words reaffirm what I already know. I am doomed to spend the rest of my days as an empty shell, my soul blackened by the chasm my own mother forced me into.

  Unfortunately, I am not alone.

  Deep inside of me, Mamá is there. Her essence coats my own, blending together, reminding me that we are linked. Forevermore, she will always be there to guide me, to usher me to her side, and for the first time in my life, I can envision no greater hell.

  Chapter Four

  The silence in the manor is so loud, it hurts my head. I finger my temples, feeling the onset of a migraine burrowing into the depths of my skull. It has been far too long since I have experienced such mundane pain, and I am not even sure how to treat it. I can feel the vampires’ gazes on me, watching silently as I sink deeper into my weakened, mortal state.

  The longer I sit and assess the damage done, the worse I feel. When I can no longer mentally check my wounds, I open my eyes, and they all look away. In unison, their gazes are averted, and they all pretend to be far too interested in banal things—the dust-coated chess pieces on a nearby table, the leather-bound books on shelves, the crackling logs in the fireplace, the floorboards that creak with every uncomfortable twitch. All at once, I feel like I am an animal in a cage or a fish in a bowl, and it makes me uneasy.

  I toy with the hem of my shirt, hyperaware of how desperately I need a shower. My fingernails are chipped and dirty, blood is caked to my skin, and my frizzy hair clings to my forehead. My scalp is itchy, and I am certain the stagnant odor in the room is coming from me. The vampires do not react to my stench, but I know it lingers in the air.