Dark Spell

by Danielle Rose

  But in the darkness, I do not visit the astral plane.

  And when I dream, I do not see Will.

  Chapter Five

  When I wake, the sun is still a few hours from setting. I stare at the glow through my window, basking in its rays. I have not seen a sunset in months, and I plan to relish it today. It might be a struggle, but I woke with a renewed feeling on life. I will find the beauty in this hell.

  I pull back my curtains and lean against the windowsill. From this height, I see nothing but snow and forest. The trees entomb us, encasing the manor in steady streams of thick trunks. It looks suspiciously like a wall, and when I gaze for too long, it begins to close in on me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, take several deep breaths, and open them again. This time, the trees are not quite as threatening. I cannot remember the last time I felt so…weak. Everything I see looks menacing and hazardous. Sometimes, I worry my fear will get the best of me, and I will never again leave the manor. I shudder at the thought of staying indoors for life.

  I glance up at the sky and sigh. Like most winter days, it is overcast, with only hints of sunlight shining through when the clouds move. I wait for the moments when the rays penetrate those fluffy puffs. I pray I return to my former self. It is unfair that I am cursed to withstand daylight during the one season the sun refuses to shine.

  When I face my room again, the light pouring through the almost never open window reflects off the tiny specks of dust in the air. I scrunch my nose at the sight, waving away the pollutants with my hands. I am unsuccessful because it is everywhere. Suddenly, I went from superhero to victim, strong to vulnerable. Now I have to worry about mundane things like allergies.

  I groan, kicking my foot at the hardwood floors. I pace in circles, hating how lonely the manor feels.

  The house is eerily silent, because I am the only one awake. The vampires will not venture out of their rooms until dusk, so I have far too many hours to kill.

  My room is messy, and it reminds me of my room at Mamá’s house. I was forced out so quickly, I did not have time to clean up. When I returned, I noticed she kept my room exactly the same. It too was full of dust.

  Piles of dirty clothes are strewn across my bedroom floor. I pick up each piece and place them in the hamper I keep in my closet. When I turn back around, the room does not seem any cleaner. I make my bed and straighten the makeup table, which has somehow become a catchall for everything unrelated to cosmetics. Since I do not wear much makeup, I had to find another use for the piece.

  I sit and stare at my reflection in the mirror. When I woke, I dressed quickly, mindlessly choosing the day’s garments. I opted for my signature look: jeans, black boots, and a dark top. My jacket is hanging on the hook beside my door, and when the sun finally breaks free, penetrating the room, I can see the toll these past several months have had on my attire. During my time as a vampire, I have had to fix far too many ripped clothes. What hasn’t been salvageable was tossed along the way. Sadly, my favorite jacket has taken the brunt of the attacks and is looking weathered. I am not sure how many more assaults it can withstand. Maybe it is finally time we both retire.

  When I have sat alone in my room long enough, I make my way into the hallway, closing my door behind me. The stairs to the main floor squeak as I descend into the sitting room. A chill works its way down my spine, and I shiver. The fire in the adjoining parlor has been reduced to embers.

  I consider finding wood, a match, and some kindling, because without the heat, I am cold, but there is a part of me—no matter how small—that welcomes this feeling. Because while it might mean I am mortal, it also means I am alive. I survived the curse, and I escaped the witches.

  Since that fateful spell, I feel almost completely devoid of emotion. I feel pain and discomfort, but I do not hear the calling of the moon. I do not taste the salty sea air. I cannot see past the sinking feeling in my gut. My fear is a noose, and my legs are weakening.

  “Ava?” someone says, and I shriek, turning around so quickly, I lose my footing and grab on to the banister to keep myself from falling. My heart is racing, my mind spinning. I hate that it is so easy to sneak up on me now.

  “I—I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you,” Holland says. He holds his hands before him, reaching to steady me. His eyes are tired, but they are full of emotion. I envy him so much.

  I clutch my chest, struggling to slow my rapid breathing, and shake my head.

  “It’s—It’s okay. I am sorry. I am just…”

  “You are just not used to being mortal,” he finishes with a soft smile. He is empathetic to my situation. He too is a mortal in the midst of vampires. It is not easy being…us.

  I shrug. “I guess not. It is these moments that make me worry I may never get used to my dulled senses,” I admit.

  “You will, but it will take time.”

  I nod slowly. “Yeah, I suppose it will.”

  But how much time do I really have?

  “How about some breakfast?” Holland asks. “I bet you are starving.”

  I perk up at the thought of eating. He is right. I am famished. “I could eat.”

  He offers a wide, toothy grin and spins on his heels, guiding me through the dining room until we reach the kitchen.

  The table has been adorned with a buffet of typical breakfast offerings. A jar of orange juice sits at its center, with two empty glasses beside it. Surrounding it is a box of donuts, another box of bagels, burned toast with a saucer of butter, a plate of pancakes, and another plate with eggs, crispy bacon, and sausage links. It is absolutely a feast for two.

  Salivating, I take a seat. Completely mindless, like some wicked hungry zombie, I dive in. I shovel eggs into my mouth, humming with each bite. Nothing tastes the way I remember it—and if I am being honest, everything seems pretty bland—but my stomach welcomes each forkful. In my constant worry, I did not realize just how hungry I was. I feel like I could eat for days.

  Between mouthfuls, I glance up at Holland. He is eating as well, but he is not quite as enthusiastic about it as I am. I smile, trying not to show any teeth, and I am certain I only succeed in looking like a chipmunk storing food in my cheeks for winter. But I do not care. With each swallow, the pain in my gut is subsiding.

  “You might want to take it easy. We are not even sure you should be eating food,” Holland cautions.

  I nearly choke on my bite. When I finally swallow it down, I stare at the smorgasbord before me. Absolutely anything here could be toxic. A vampire cannot digest human food, but blood makes me queasy. Aside from trial and error, what am I supposed to do?

  “Just go slow,” Holland says, answering my internal question.

  I push away my plate, stomach already in knots, and take a sip of orange juice. I scrunch my nose at its tartness, but I take another sip. So far, so good.

  “Did you get all of this for me?” I ask. I tongue the crevices of my teeth as I wait for him to answer.

  “Sort of,” he says, and he takes another hefty bite of pancakes.

  “Sort of?” I ask.

  “Well, I am hungry too, but I thought you might enjoy a welcome-home buffet,” Holland says.

  I lick my lips, tasting the remains of salt and cheddar cheese, and I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Thanks, Holland,” I say sincerely.

  He smiles softly and reaches for my hands. Between plates of waffles and bowls of fruit, he holds on to me. “I know it has been hard, Ava, but it will get easier. Just give it time.”

  I sniffle and nod, glancing over his shoulder at the world beyond the manor. The sun has broken through the clouds. Shining down, it illuminates the remnants of a winter storm. Everything is white and icy, and it all sparkles. The window is frosted in the corners, and the world looks like a postcard.

  The snow looks like a soft, wintery blanket, but beneath those depths, danger lurks. A mortal like me cannot patrol the woods the way I have been hunting. All at once, everything is dangerous. The pr
edators that reside in the woods, the low temperatures, the hidden brush, the icy sea… Any of these things could seriously harm me. Or worse… I shake my head, trying to remove the images flashing behind my eyes.

  “Are you okay, Ava?” Holland says, breaking my concentration.

  I open my eyes to find him staring at me. He is frowning, his forehead creased by his concern.

  I shrug and opt for honesty. “I have been better.”

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

  I shake my head, hoping to keep out the encroaching memories, but they flash before me nevertheless. I have never felt so out of control before. I cannot even keep my thoughts in check.

  “I think it might help you, and maybe it will help me,” Holland adds.

  I frown. “What do you mean? I thought you said this is unbreakable magic?”

  “I—It… I mean,” Holland says with a sigh. “I am not going to lie to you, Ava. You are in a pretty serious predicament, but I also will admit that I am not a scholar on the black arts.”

  “Do you think we can reverse their spell?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Not on our own,” Holland admits. “If it is even possible at all…”

  I lose myself in my thoughts. What is the point of reliving this nightmare if Holland is not strong enough—or smart enough—to find a way for me to break it? I feel hexed, and there is no telling how far this spell will go. Who is to say the witches are done casting their spells on me?

  “I know you are scared, but I need to know what happened,” Holland says.

  I exhale sharply and nod before I begin.

  “Mamá lured me by lying about Liv’s disappearance,” I say. “She was never really missing.”

  Holland hangs his head low, processing my words. He sits back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest, prepared to give me his full attention, so I continue.

  “But everyone already knew that,” I say. “Everyone else saw her deception for what it was.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for caring too much. You are a good person, Ava, with a good heart. That is not a bad thing.”

  I shake my head. “No, but it gets me into some bad situations.”

  Holland does not respond. He does not need to. He cannot refute the truth. If I did not care so much, I would not have tried over and over again to help my former allies. If only I could have abandoned them the way they ousted me, my life would be so different right now. I might not even have stayed in Darkhaven.

  “After I met Will…” I say, my heart burning at the sound of his name. I glance at the clock. I am still several hours away from sunset, from Malik’s deadline. Silently, I pray he can hold out that long. I do not know what torture the witches are bestowing upon him, but I hope he knows I would never abandon him.

  “I know you care for him,” Holland says, breaking my trance.

  I blink and focus on Holland once again. “I do. In a short time, he proved himself as an ally. And we could really use some of those.”

  Holland smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. Like the vampires, he is cautious of Will. He does not trust him yet, but in time, they all will. They will see he is a friend, and we certainly cannot have too many of those.

  “The witches attacked us in the forest, but they did not seem intent on hurting me. Now, I understand they were only after Will. They were hunting, and they were probably watching me the whole time.”

  I remember that night so vividly. Everything was orchestrated. Mamá knew I would patrol, and she knew I would stop at nothing until I discovered the truth. They were waiting for me. I walked right into their trap.

  “Can you tell me about the actual spell?” Holland asks.

  I search my memory, trying to find something, anything, that might be helpful, but I come up blank. My defeat must be written all over my face, because Holland frowns.

  “Anything at all could be useful,” he adds.

  “I—I do not remember much of the actual spell,” I admit.

  “Do you remember anything they said? What did they chant?” Holland leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands in front of him.

  “I do not know. I am not even sure it was truly Latin. I did not understand what they were saying. Honestly, I could barely hear them. The sun was rising, and I was panicking, and all I could do was stare at Will and watch as we were about to die.”

  I sniffle, shaking, and rock back and forth in my seat. Gnawing on my lip, I try to slow my sputtering heart. I cannot keep reliving this moment. I must move on from it.

  “What else do you remember?” Holland asks.

  “I remember begging my mother to save me. I remember the look on her face. She did not care. She did not look scared about the possibility of watching her only child being burned alive.” I cannot help the hate that laces my words. I am so angry with her. Mamá’s actions were unforgivable. I hope she knows that.

  “I am so sorry, Ava.”

  Holland tries to touch me, but I jerk away.

  “Do you remember what they had on the altar?” he asks, pretending he did not notice my physical lurch as he tried to touch me.

  I freeze, mentally assessing every inch of the tree stump. Situated almost at the center of Mamá’s backyard, I know this altar well. I grew up decorating it, learning the proper placement of relics meant to represent the elements and the strongest parts of each spell we cast.

  “I do,” I say.

  Holland catches his breath and waits for me to continue.

  “They had the typical items to represent the elements—candle for fire, sea salt for earth, feathers for air, a chalice for water, the third eye emblem for spirit—and a golden sphere to represent the sun.”

  Holland nods. “We assumed they harnessed the energy of the sun to complete the spell, but this does confirm it.”

  “Does that help to narrow down your findings?” I ask.

  “I have not found much,” Holland admits. “I have never encountered a coven willing to commit such an act. Using the black arts is forbidden. There is a universal law in place, which you are well aware of. The fact that they even felt the need to dabble in such dark magic shocks me.”

  “I guess they desperately wanted to find a way to get rid of me once and for all.”

  Holland shakes his head. “I do not think they ever intended to hurt you. They risked their own lives to perform a spell they had no business casting.”

  “But I could have died.”

  “I am sure they were praying it would not come to that,” Holland says.

  I sigh. “You do not have to defend them, Holland.”

  He throws his hands up in defeat. “By no means am I condoning what they did. I am just saying, I kind of understand it. That does not make it right, but who would not risk everything for family?”

  “Unfortunately, I think they were more focused on eliminating an abomination than actually saving my soul.”

  “The irony here is they risked their own souls in the process,” Holland says.

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I have never encountered someone who actively explores the black arts,” Holland says, “but I have heard of witches who have attempted to harness a great deal of power. This level of magic is not innate to us, so a witch would need to source it from something inherently powerful, like the sun.”

  “What happened to these witches?” I ask. “The ones who tried these powerful spells?”

  “These are complicated, dangerous spells, Ava.”

  I nod. “So what happened to them?”

  “They died,” he says plainly.

  “They…died? What do you mean they died?”

  “Witches are mortal beings, Ava. Our bodies cannot contain that much power. Granted, the witches I have heard about attempted these spells alone. Your spell was performed by an entire coven. I suspect they did that to limit the burden on one witch. Everyone took a piece of that power, and together, they used it
in unison to…alter what you were.”

  “This sounds insane!”

  He smiles. “It really does, but magic is not exactly normal. The insanity is what gives us life, power.”

  “What is going to happen to them?”

  “I am not sure,” Holland says, but his eyes gloss over. I know this look well. He is searching his mind, replaying the many scenarios until he comes up with something that fits. Malik has the same look in his eyes when he covers battle plans during our training sessions.

  “Holland,” I say sternly.

  He blinks several times, clearing his gaze. “Ava…” He shakes his head.

  “Just tell me.”

  “If they released the energy back into the earth, then they might be okay,” he says, ever hopeful that the witches finally did something right. Doesn’t he know them better by now? They never do what is right.

  “And if they did not?”

  He exhales sharply. “If they choose to keep the energy, to make themselves stronger—”

  “Which I can see them doing,” I interrupt. And I know you can too.

  “Well, if it is too much, they will not be able to contain it. They will die. Probably slowly.”

  “And if it is not enough to actually kill them?”

  “They will go mad,” he says. “Piece by piece, their psyches will collapse to a magic they were never meant to carry.”

  I sink back into my chair, replaying our conversation over and over again in my mind. I would like to think I have not become so heartless that I would wish death on my former coven, but they have conditioned me to hate them. Now that I might get revenge, I am not sure how I feel. I know one thing, though. I will not rush over to warn them. They brought this doom on themselves.

  “Ava, are you okay?” Holland asks, bringing me back to reality.

  “For so long, I risked my life to protect them. This very thing terrified me. The thought of losing those who I loved…”

  “It must be difficult to accept that your mother may die soon,” Holland says.

  And all at once, the world stops spinning. My heart sinks deep into my stomach, where my food coma was already hardening into knots.