Dark Spell

by Danielle Rose

  In my desperation to escape the floor where Mamá slumbers, I twisted my foot awkwardly, and now my ankle throbs with each step I take. I try to put weight on it, but it protests, a stabbing pain shooting so violently through my leg, I limp the rest of the way down the steps.

  By the time I reach the bottom stair, I am breathless from trying to be quiet. It is hard to breathe, to think, to even see clearly. My mind is a rush of thoughts, my heart racing from too many emotions, my body sore. I have to believe Malik’s plan will work, but I am not sure he accurately anticipated just how weak I have become.

  I stare at the front door. It is only a few feet away. I could run. That would mean leaving Will behind but saving myself. The realist in me reminds me I have yet to see him. I should fear the worst, but I will never know if he is gone unless I search the entire house. If it were me trapped in this house, I would hope for rescue. That would be all I’d have to hang on to, so I cannot leave without him.

  I peer up the dark staircase, hopeful I have not woken Mamá. There is no light, no sound, just an emptiness that leads to our bedrooms and altar room. I did not bother checking them. Mamá would never trust Will enough to give him his own room to stay in.

  I take one long, slow inhalation to strengthen myself, and I tear my gaze away from upstairs, intent on searching the rest of the house as speedily as I can.

  Already, my ankle is feeling better, so I am confident I did not truly injure it. But this experience served its purpose. It reminded me I am not invincible anymore. I need to be careful if I plan to survive.

  The main level consists of the kitchen and living areas, with no real place to hide a prisoner. I do not expect human visitors, but the house has windows. If Mamá is going to keep Will captive and protect her secrets from prying eyes, she would have to keep him safe, secure. That does not leave many options.

  I limp down the hall, walking past the living room and toward the kitchen. Quietly, I open the hall closet, wincing as the door creaks a little too loudly. I freeze, waiting for signs that I have woken Mamá, but the floorboards never squeak.

  With shaking hands, I walk into the closet, fumbling for the light switch as I close the door behind me. I am engulfed in darkness, using my fingers to feel the rough edges of the walls.

  By the time I feel the familiar bulge of the switch, I worry I have spent too much time in here. That is the beauty of the night. It never feels like it lasts as long as the day. One minute in complete darkness can feel like an eternity. So by the time I find the switch, I am certain it is almost daylight.

  I must find Will quickly.

  I turn on the light, shielding my eyes as it stings. I squeeze my lids closed tightly, and water pools behind my lids. It takes several seconds for me to adjust to the brightness, and with each passing moment, my anxiety triples.

  When I can finally open my eyes, I sift through the dozens of hanging clothes, pushing them to the sides to carve out a small pathway to what lies beyond.

  Behind the rows of dusty jackets never worn and bought only for this purpose, there is a door. I open it, the hinges freshly greased to create a silent entrance. My heart sinks in my chest, because I know what this must mean. At some point, Will was most definitely kept down here, and Mamá must have visited him. I pray he is okay.

  The depths below are dark, dank. As soon as I step forward, the musty air wafts toward me. I scrunch my nose and slowly descend the stone steps. To steady myself, I keep my hand on the rail, lightly grazing the wood until I reach the bottom step.

  When I reach for the cord to turn on the light, my arms are shaking. Before I yank it toward me to turn on the light, I offer a silent prayer, begging to find Will alive, safe. Because if he is not here, I fear I will never find him.

  I stare into the darkness, listening intently. The light from the closet above only brightens the room to the bottom step. From there, the room is pitch black. No one even knows this room exists. Papá said it was to keep us safe. He said we could hide here if there were ever an attack we could not fight. But after his death, Mamá changed it. She turned it into something dark, something heinous. It is no longer for us. It is for them.

  I turn on the light, illuminating the small space. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in the scene before me. Will is across the room, curled into a ball on the floor. His clothes are dirty and bloodstained. His skin is pale and taut. His eyes are swollen, his lips trembling. Lying on the dirt floor, he shivers. His breath escapes in ragged puffs, and bursts of air create clouds of dust. He breathes it in and coughs, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

  I rush to his side, ignoring the dulling pain in my ankle, and I fall to my knees. I position myself beneath him, resting his head on my lap. I brush his hair from his eyes, and my fingers are caught in tangles.

  I whisper his name so many times, I lose count. I do not know how long I sit here, and I do not know if he is even aware of my presence, but I promise him, over and over again, that I will never leave him again. I explain the plan, whispering words of hope, but he never wakes.

  Enough time passes for the sun to rise. I know this even though I do not see it, do not sense it. I never returned to my room last night, and I hear the panicked footsteps of Mamá searching for me. Eventually, she will find me down here, and maybe when she sees me with Will, she will understand why I came so willingly. But I do not care.

  I hear shouting coming from upstairs, but the words are too muffled. I assume she calls for me, but I ignore her.

  “Ava?” Will whispers.

  His eyes flutter open, and I smile down at him. I nearly scream with delight that he has found the strength to wake. I remain calm, staying silent, fearing Mamá will rush down if she hears us.

  “Will…” I say softly. I brush the dirt from his cheek with my thumb.

  I have sat cross-legged almost the entire night, and my legs protest. My muscles burn from lack of movement, but I do not dare move now. Will is using my lap as a pillow, and his condition seems to worsen with each passing hour. I wonder if Mamá has even fed him since she tossed him down here. How can she be so cruel? To refuse him light, food, water, a bath.

  “You came back?” he asks in disbelief.

  I nod, eyes welling. “I never should have left.”

  He frowns and turns away from me. Grunting loudly, he manages to push himself up, refusing aid when I offer it. He scoots back until he is flush against the stone wall. Exhausted and struggling to breathe, he finally looks at me.

  “You should not have come back,” he admits.

  “They should not have left without you,” I say.

  I am still upset with the vampires’ decision to leave him, but I understand why they did. Malik was worried about Jasik, Hikari about Jeremiah. We were wounded and outnumbered. I cannot stay angry with them, but I can hate their decisions.

  Will coughs loudly, and the floor directly above us creaks. I hold my breath, waiting for Mamá to rush down the stairs. Only when an unbearable amount of time passes do I release the breath. She never comes.

  “They will find you down here,” Will says.

  “I know,” I say, still staring at the ceiling. I pull my knees to my chest, holding them tightly.

  “You should have left when you had the chance.”

  I sigh and glance at him. “Did you really think I would not come back for you? The only reason you are here is because of me.”

  “I am here because I chose to help you,” Will says.

  I roll my eyes, mumbling under my breath. There is no point in arguing. He and I will never agree on this.

  I scan the room, searching for something that could be useful. If I can find a weapon or even some secret door to the backyard, we would not have to wait for the vampires. We could escape now.

  But Mamá knew what she was doing when she tossed Will down those steps as if he were merely garbage. The room is barren, with only a wood chair in the far corner. I consider how I can use that to my advantage, but my ideas fa
ll flat. The walls are stone, the floor compact dirt, and the only light dangles in the far corner by the stairs. It barely illuminates the space. This room was absolutely built to be a torture chamber. I cannot believe I once saw it as a safe place to hide.

  “Ava, look at me,” Will says.

  I meet his gaze, giving up on a silent retreat from the basement.

  “You did not do this to me.”

  I do not speak, but I smile softly. I know Will believes his words. I can see it in his eyes, but I will never see the world through his mind. He can spend the next thousand years trying to convince me, but he will fail day after day. And unfortunately, we no longer have years to spare.

  “I need you to believe that,” he says. “We make our own decisions. I wanted to help, and I knew what I was getting into. This is not your fault.”

  This is not your fault.

  I swell with emotion. I might not believe him, but that does not make me appreciate his words any less. I did not realize how badly I needed to hear that. I do feel responsible, but I appreciate Will’s attempt to release that burden, to relinquish me from my own inner guilt.

  “I promise, we are going to get out of here,” I say. “We are going to escape, and we are going to get our powers back.”

  Will frowns, tearing his gaze from mine. He swallows hard and stares into the distance. His gaze is cloudy, his mind seemingly lost in what I hope is a memory from a better life.

  “What is it?” I ask, and he blinks several times, clearing his eyes.

  “They used black magic, Ava,” Will says. “That spell is binding. There is no going back for us.”

  “My friends are working on it,” I say. “They promise they will find a way around this. They just need time.”

  I speak so quickly, my words spill from my mouth. I am not even sure he can understand me, but I need him to trust me, to believe me. I am terrified of the thought of Will giving up. We have come too far to give up now.

  Will shakes his head. “There is no use. Do not waste your time trying.”

  I smack him on the leg, hard, and he winces. If I were not so annoyed, I would feel bad about hitting him so hard. But I need him to see that this is what Mamá does. She takes every bit of sanity you have and squashes it. She brainwashes you into believing only what she wants.

  “Stop!” I hiss. “Do not talk like that.”

  Will looks at me, his eyes emotionless.

  “Is this really a bad life to live?”

  I gawk, utterly dumbfounded he would ask that.

  “Are you serious right now? You are literally locked up in a dungeon. You have been here for days, Will. Have you even eaten? Showered? Seen sunlight? How are you even going to the bathroom? Does this really sound like the good life?” I use air quotes to emphasize my point.

  “I do not mean this,” he says, flailing his arms before him like he is showcasing the room. “I mean being human. At least we are normal again. Things could be worse.”

  “Yeah, you could be locked up in a basement with no way out, spending your days either starving or being relentlessly tortured by captors who are slowly going mad. Oh, wait…”

  I want to shake the insanity out of Will, but I know he is too frail for such viciousness. I need to convince him to remain hopeful, but I am lost for words. How can I ask him to envision a better life when all he sees is this hell? For once, the severity of our situation is settling on me, and it makes my soul hurt.

  Just as I am about to explain Malik’s plan, the door to the basement opens, and a bright light shines down the steps.

  I do not breathe.

  I do not move.

  I still myself, waiting, watching as the shadow of a figure works its way down the stairs.

  I swallow the knot in my throat.

  “Hola, Mamá.”

  Chapter Eight

  As I stare into my mother’s eyes, her features seem even more somber than usual. Her discomfort washes over me, pinning me in place. Without even speaking, I know she is upset with me. I can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she carries herself as she approaches me.

  Mamá is a dark shadow starkly lit against my iridescent soul. My aura is alive with vibrant, swirling colors, but as soon as Mamá is near me, I am tainted by obsidian.

  Our link grants her control no one should have over another being, and I hate it. More so, I hate that she is allowing this to happen to me, her own daughter. I should not be here. She should not have cast that spell. And we should not be rushing steadfast toward madness, ensuring our self-inflicted demise.

  I can tell Mamá’s clutch over my freedom is strengthening. No longer do I simply feel her embrace. I can see it now too. It is inky and black, gooey at its center and feathering out at all edges. It continues to grow, spreading so far, it has almost completely wrapped around my entire body. Every moment I spend with her, she becomes stronger, and soon, I will be completely enveloped by her presence. Mamá will cocoon me in her embrace, and she will never let go.

  A year ago, I could not have imagined I would be in this position, because back then, I never knew Mamá liked to play such cruel and wicked games. She was a sweeter, calmer woman. I rarely witnessed the anger I have become accustomed to now. I do not know what happened to her to make her such a vindictive, malicious person. Was it my transition? I try to remember a time after I became a hybrid when she was not so terrifying or hateful, but I cannot.

  This is the woman who raised me. This is the person she is. She is bitter and resentful and outraged by the world. Her sullen attitude and irate nature are going to get her killed.

  It does not matter why. All that matters is that she enjoys these games we play, but when the sun sets, the tables will turn. The rules will change, and I will be holding all the pieces.

  Right now, when put together, I do not like the picture of my life these puzzle pieces create. It is jarring and reckless; everything is in such disarray. But with Holland’s help, I can regain control. I promise myself I will sever this link no matter what it takes.

  Finally, Mamá stops her slow advance when she is only a few feet away from me. I am still slouched on the ground, knees to my chest, sitting directly beside Will, who refuses to look up. But I do.

  I look directly at her eyes and sit upright, keeping my head up, my shoulders straight, my back strong. I want her to know I am not scared of her or this prison. I feign confidence because I know my strength worries her. She considered me an abomination, because as a hybrid, I experienced true power. And I will get it back.

  I never wanted to be a vampire, but now I cannot imagine my life without fangs or blood lust. I am engulfed in sunlight, yet I search for the shadows, always aware that I seek what I can no longer have. I am no longer a vampire, but I am not exactly a witch either. My situation is so similar to my transition as a hybrid, yet it is so different. I have never felt so alone.

  My heart races in my chest, and for once, I am relieved to know Will does not have the heightened senses needed to hear it. I do not want him to worry about me or to fear for his life. We only have to survive until sundown. In the meantime, I can handle Mamá’s wrath, but in his state, he cannot.

  Mamá glances at Will and narrows her eyes. Her hatred for him, even though he is no longer a hybrid, is undeniable. It screams from her, penetrating the room in waves of contempt.

  When her anger slaps me in the face, I feel it so deeply within my own soul, I am unsure if this hate stems from her or me. Mamá manipulates my emotions so easily, without even trying, and I fear what she will do when she realizes the power she holds over me.

  I am so busy looking at Mamá, I do not see our other visitor enter the basement until she has already set her sights on me. The stairs squeak, announcing her presence, and I tear my gaze from my mother.

  Abuela rounds the stairs, and with her gaze glued to mine, she strides toward me. Everything about her appearance is unsettling. Her gray hair is pulled back into a perfect bun, and her clothes are fresh and iron
ed. Her skin is wrinkled, her eyes dark, but she looks well rested. Nothing about her shows signs of unease. It is as if she has not tapped into the black arts as a form of discipline. From the way she carries herself, she is not even slightly worried about the repercussions of her actions.

  When Abuela reaches Mamá’s side, she glances at Will.

  “¿Sigues vivo?” my grandmother asks. Her voice is emotionless, but a slight smile creases her cheeks. She is pleased he has survived the evening, and I fear her plans for him today.

  Endless streams of magical torture loop in my mind. Visions of it dance before my eyes, and I suck in a sharp breath. It is loud enough for both captors to look at me and smile. They are pleased with my fear, and they have every intention of using it to control me.

  Will does not answer Abuela, nor does he look up. He remains slouched beside me, staring at the ground. Never cemented or covered with wood planks, the floors consist of dirt, now compacted over the years of providing a safe haven when violence erupted outside these walls and I was too young to aid my allies, and it does not keep out the chill. A shudder works its way through my body, and I wrap my arms around my chest to keep myself from shivering. Everything about this house feels cold—from the people to the lifeless furnishings. Mamá’s house does not scream welcome. It says keep out. Stay away. Go home. If only I could.

  “I see you have found your friend,” Abuela says. I know she only speaks English as a courtesy to Will. She wants him to hear, and understand, every word she speaks.

  I nod, deciding to remain silent because I fear angering her so early in the day. Thankfully, it is the winter season, which sees the shortest days, but I still have hours before nightfall, before the vampires enact the rest of Malik’s plan.

  “Are you surprised he is still alive?” my grandmother asks.

  I shake my head and mumble.

  “Speak loudly, child,” Abuela says.