Dark Shadow

by Danielle Rose

  “I miss you,” I say. The stone stares back at me, blank and mute. This place is cold and lifeless—so different from the warmth of skin or the glint of a devious glare. Nothing about this place represents the souls lost that day.

  I feel it as I do every time I come here. The anger rises in my chest, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

  I hate the witches for what they did, and I am ashamed that I was born from their blood.

  I hate this evil entity that I must now protect. It does not deserve my protection or my allegiance, but if it falls into the hands of someone with evil intentions…

  I sigh and shake away the thought, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I bury my fingernails into my flesh, easing the pressure only when I feel the familiar bite of broken skin. It heals quickly, and I am suddenly consumed by my guilt.

  My comrades relied on my protection, my aid, and even though I am swarming with power, I could not save them. And I cannot bring them back. I rely on my magic to heal unnecessary wounds while Will decomposes, buried deep in the earth. Nothing about this is fair.

  I sink lower, resting my bottom on my heels. For only a moment, I allow my anger to rise in my chest until I feel nothing but the burning, formidable desire to bring this entire town to its knees. I want to avenge our fallen. I want the witches to pay the ultimate price—like my friends paid. I want them to answer for their mistakes, and I want the cost to be more than relinquishing their magic. That isn’t enough. That will never be enough.

  Once I am seething, trembling so violently I can barely contain my rage, I allow myself the gift of forgiveness. I release the hate, refusing to allow it to corrode my innards. In one sweeping burst, it escapes me, and the ground shakes. The earth responds to my longing in a way the witches never could. It weeps with me, quivering right to its very core.

  My skin is hot, sticky, and I swipe at the sweat that beads at my temple. My magic explodes from my body, and the sudden change in temperature has caused a mist to form. The air thickens and fogs, making it difficult to breathe, but I try to ignore these signs.

  I remember my dream, my fear, my pain—and I let it all go. Hunching forward, I weep. I release the elements, and I cry until the tears refuse to flow. My eyes burn as I wipe away that which is not there. I press hard, involuntarily so, almost as if I am trying to force more tears. But none come.

  I want to tell Will that it is not fair, that he should never have been the sacrifice in this war. He deserved to survive, to leave this place and create the life he always dreamed of having. The good should not be the cost of peace. But I can’t bring myself to admit these things, even though this stone has heard them all before. I try not to think about all the times I have promised to avenge his death, because I have lost count.

  During my darkest moment, I even fancied the idea of bringing him back, of dabbling in the dark arts and summoning an entity so evil and so powerful it could raise the dead. But I never did. And I never will. Not because I don’t want to and not because I can’t access such magic. I know I can. I know this power exists if only I just tap into it.

  The reason I don’t is because of Will. I would need to succumb to the most sinister parts of my soul, and I couldn’t bear the way he would look at me when he discovered the truth. He would hate me forever, and I am ashamed to admit that the only thing worse than losing him would be knowing he’s alive and has no desire to see me.

  So instead of more broken promises, I say, “I hope you’re proud of me.”

  But I don’t know why I say this. I have done nothing to deserve Will’s pride. He died while saving me, offering his life in an effort to save the rest of us. He was a better, kinder, stronger, smarter soul than any of us. We didn’t deserve his loyalty.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

  And then I hear it. Cackling from somewhere above me, as though the creature from my nightmare mocks my words. My blood runs cold as I flash back to that moment in my dream, when the sound erupted from the depths of darkness, surrounding me, smothering me.

  I look up and see it. Perched on the highest part of a nearby tree, a crow watches me. My breath catches as I stare back at it, and I feel my pulse race. I become lightheaded, but I cannot look away. Frozen in place, my eyes dry at the bitterly cold morning air. Tears burn, but I still do not blink, not until I am certain I am really seeing what I think is there.

  Because this must be a dream. It has to be. Am I still asleep? Again, I dig my nails into my palms and wince at the pain. But I do not wake.

  I remember my training. Mamá was clear in our lessons. Crows are evil. They are the bringers of death and malice. I am certain this is an omen. A warning. A threat.

  I stand abruptly and make the quick decision to scare the bird from our property. I shout and wave my arm at it, but it does not budge. Instead, slowly, it crooks its head, allowing me to see its stark profile against the moonlit sky. Its beak is long and sharp, and it cackles again.

  The bird is watching me. Its beady, gleaming eye glistens in the starlight, and even though I know it is not possible, I am certain it is smiling at me. As if it knows something I do not.

  Jasik treads down the stairs just as I am walking into the sitting room. The sight of him still leaves me breathless sometimes—even though I am still trying to calm down after my encounter with the crow. I am feeling dizzy and lightheaded, and my heart is beating so hard I am certain my sire hears it.

  He frowns when he sees me, and I wonder if I am flushed. I swipe at my forehead, finding it dewy. I imagine my cheeks are about three shades redder than usual, and from the look of concern etched across his face, Jasik knows something is amiss. As much as I strive to conceal these parts of myself from him, I know I won’t be able to keep these secrets for long.

  “Ava? Is everything okay?” he asks as he strides toward me.

  He closes the space between us in a couple of easy steps. Before I know it, he is before me. He reaches forward, gliding his fingertips along the curve of my jaw, tipping my head back so our gazes lock. I push away his hand, not wanting my eyes to betray my inner turmoil before I am ready.

  “What is it?” he asks, his voice wavering. He grows more confused—frightened even—with each second I do not respond.

  I shake my head, a desperate attempt to convince myself what I saw was nothing more than coincidence. All of these things—my dreams, my innate fear, the crow—could be chalked up to an overactive imagination. They could also be the product of the turmoil we experienced not so long ago. Our anxiety is heightened, so it makes sense that I am not feeling like myself. If I label them as deviant, then the threat I might be foreseeing becomes real. It exists, and it is a force to be reckoned with.

  And I’m not sure that will help our situation. The vampires put on a brave face, but we are still broken. The few weeks that have passed since I hexed the witches were not enough to mend our fractured souls, and this certainly hasn’t been enough time to wage war on yet another enemy.

  “Ava…” Jasik says, voice stern. My sire is making it clear that he will not let this go. Even though I crave silence, I can’t keep pushing him away. The flicker inside me that tethers our souls together won’t allow it either. Our bond might not grant him total control over me, but it’s enough to make me want to please him.

  “It’s nothing,” I admit. “I was in the cemetery. I saw…” I hesitate.

  The significance of crows is important in witchcraft, so I doubt Jasik will understand. He might brush off this as nothing more than migrating birds. While that might seem ideal, I am conflicted. I’m not sure what’s worse—keeping the vampires in the dark or exposing them to my other side and watching as they dismiss my witchy concerns.

  “What did you see? Is this about your nightmare?” he asks, breaking my silence.

  I suck in a sharp breath. So I did wake him. He does know. I swallow hard, shaking my head. Even as I deny the connection between my dreams and
the crow stalking us outside, something within me stirs. The part of me who was raised in a coven knows better. The spirit witch is certain the two are connected, even if I can’t quite speak it aloud.

  “There was a crow,” I blurt. “Perched on one of the tree branches. It was watching me. I’m sure of it.”

  Jasik frowns, pauses, and I think he is considering his words before responding. Maybe I was wrong about him. After all, he has never doubted me before. So why now? I fear my insecurities are getting the best of me. Ever since we lost Will and the others, I have lost my faith, and the emptiness inside me has filled with resentment and uncertainty. I need to find my strength, and my faith, if there truly is danger afoot.

  “Are crows significant?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “What do they mean?”

  “Crows can cross between the spiritual and physical world. They carry souls over to the other side after death,” I explain.

  “That doesn’t necessarily sound strange,” Jasik says. “We just experienced…casualties.” I do not miss his hesitation or how he emphasizes casualties as if it physically hurt him to speak the word aloud. Knowing the pain he is hiding, my chest burns for him.

  “Crows are not good omens,” I say, speaking slowly, firmly. “These birds are tricksters by nature.”

  “Okay,” Jasik says, nodding, thinking. He meets my gaze. “So what do we do?”

  I shake my head. “There’s nothing we can do except prepare for the inevitable.”

  “And what is that?” he asks.

  Just as I am about to explain how bad things might get, especially if both my dreams and the crows are meant as warnings, Jeremiah and Holland descend the stairs and step into the sitting room. Although we are in the same room, Jasik and I are standing closer to the entrance to the conservatory, so a small part of me hopes they don’t notice us. The last thing I need right now is to explain my dreams—the ones where I watch Jasik die, night after night, in a million different horrible ways—to the rest of our nest.

  Holding hands and smiling, the two lovers laugh, paying us no attention, as if they are the only two beings left in existence. I welcome this invisibility, but it does not last long. As soon as I acknowledge it in my mind, it dissipates and we are seen.

  “Morning!” Holland cheers when he finally sees us.

  I nod at him and avert my gaze, settling on the floor. My eyes will betray every conflicted emotion circling around my mind, and I am not ready for him to see them. At least not yet. Not until after I tell Jasik about my dreams.

  “Uh-oh,” Jeremiah says. “I know that look.”

  I dare a peek, relieved to find him staring at Jasik, not me. My relief is short-lived because I make the mistake of glancing at Holland, who drops Jeremiah’s hand and shuffles over to me.

  “What is it?” Holland asks. “What’s happened?”

  “Ava is seeing crows,” Jasik says.

  The color leaves Holland’s face, and I swallow the knot that forms in my throat. I thought I could convince myself that there is nothing to worry about, that this was only a coincidence. But the look of absolute terror strewn across Holland’s face tells me I was reckless and stupid for holding on to such childish dreams.

  I don’t live in a world of light anymore. I reside in darkness, where the monsters lurking threaten every aspect of my new life. I should have known they would come for Jasik. I was ill-prepared before. Now, I must ready myself for war because I will protect my sire at all costs.

  “What does that mean?” Jeremiah asks. He looks from Jasik to Holland to me, becoming increasingly puzzled because no one speaks. It occurs to me that Jeremiah knows very little about witchcraft, which is strange considering he dates a witch.

  “It’s a very bad omen,” Holland whispers. He stares at me curiously, and I assume he is wondering why I kept this from him, from everyone. As a spirit user, I should have seen this coming long before crows showed up. And I did. I just ignored the signs.

  “How bad are we talking?” Jeremiah asks, utterly blind to the internal conversation I am having with Holland as I use my eyes to beg for his forgiveness.

  “Crows are bringers of death,” I say, defeated. I know hiding this from them wasn’t my smartest decision, but can they blame me for expecting peace after everything we have been through?

  “What does that even mean?” Jeremiah asks. “Are you telling me I need to be scared of a bird?” He doesn’t bother hiding his humor in the idea of a vampire fearing an animal. After all, we are supposed to be at the top of the food chain. Very little should frighten us.

  Holland sighs heavily, clearly irritated by his boyfriend’s bluntness, and I am beginning to understand why their relationship did not last the first time around. That only saddens me now. After so much loss, we need a little love in our lives.

  “Yes,” I say, hoping to save Holland from being the one to answer Jeremiah. “Be afraid because crows are only the first sign. Something sinister always follows.”

  “Something sinister? Like what?” Jeremiah asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “What should we look for?” Jasik asks, ignoring his ally and directing his question to me.

  Something flashes between us, and in my mind’s eye, I see my dream unfold. Jasik may be standing before me perfectly healthy, perfectly safe, completely fine, but he is also bursting into flames, his ash blowing away before I even realize he is gone.

  How can I tell him this? If my nightmares were visions of what is to come, then how can I reveal his future? How am I supposed to explain my sire’s days are numbered? The clock is ticking steadily down, and the approaching buzzer rings all around me, even now, even when I know he is okay.

  There is a reason I haven’t confessed my nightmares to him. Beneath all of this inherent strength, I am truly weak, and the thought of losing yet another friend fills me with an anguish I have never before experienced. I would give up all that I have, every power at my disposal, if only I could guarantee we would finally be safe.

  “That all depends on what is coming,” Holland cuts in.

  I glance over, silently thanking him for rescuing me after my lips fall numb.

  “Do you have any idea what that might be?” Jasik asks me. His gaze is still fixed on me. My sire is ever persistent, and I know he will not accept silence. Now is the time.

  I gnaw on my lower lip, knowing this is it. This is the moment I must confess, spilling all my dirty secrets about my nightmares and what happens within them. I just wish I didn’t have to reveal what might be Jasik’s death while standing in front of the others. While it might not be my right to keep his destiny a secret, it is his. If I told him the first time I saw him die in my dreams, everything might be different now. He might understand my desire for make-believe.

  “Crows are not the worst of it,” I admit, allowing the shame to coat my words.

  “What do you mean?” Jasik asks.

  While my voice breaks and squeaks at the most inopportune time, his is strong, unwavering in his interrogation of my ulterior motives.

  I exhale slowly, building my resolve. Finally, when I feel brave enough to admit what I have seen, I open my mouth to speak, knowing the words are now eager to spill from me, but I am silenced. I am stopped just when I am prepared to detail every horrific dream, every lived nightmare, because the front door crashes open. I hear the stained-glass windows’ protest—the ear-piercing splinter of glass nearly shattering upon impact pulsates through me.

  We all jerk toward the door, unsure of what is to come. All prepared for what may be our darkest moment, I watch as Holland readies himself to call upon his magic to aid Jeremiah, even as Jeremiah sidesteps to block his lover from what may be an attacker.

  We release the tension in our bodies as Malik stomps into the sitting room and halts when he sees us. Dressed in combat attire, he was clearly patrolling the forest surrounding the manor, a nightly ritual we all sign up for—even our newly elected leader. After spending the last
several months hunting these very woods, I know returning home so soon can only mean one thing: he found something.

  “What is it?” Jasik asks. “What happened?” He steps forward, inching closer to Malik, who is clearly shaken by whatever is happening outside the manor.

  Not usually one to showcase such visible emotions, Malik clenches his jaw, his body growing rigid as Jasik continues to step forward.

  Releasing a long, slow breath, Malik glances at me, and I freeze. I see it in his eyes. It’s there—something dark, something dangerous.

  Does he know?

  Holland peers back at me, anxiety muddling his normally bright eyes, but I ignore him. I don’t need to look at him to know what he is thinking. Whatever spirit tried to warn me about is here—in Darkhaven. It has begun, and based on Malik’s reaction, whatever it is likely has everything to do with me. And my silence over the past several weeks.

  Outside, the wind howls. The transition between seasons is never friendly to this part of the world. Winter is making way for spring, but it is not relenting without a fight.

  An icy blast of air bellows through the foyer, where the front door has been left open. I shiver, even though I do not experience the cold the way I once did. It does not threaten my life the way it does a mortal, but I am aware of its presence, like a thick cloak hanging over me. That isn’t all that is there, though. Something else lingers in the darkness, and it is close—even now.

  Malik still has not answered Jasik’s question, and it is obvious he doesn’t intend to. He waits, but as the silence stretches on, the seconds seem to last a lifetime.

  “Malik—”

  Jasik stops. In unison, we suck in a sharp breath. All at once, we are aware. We sense it. We smell it. We feel it looming ever closer, nearing the manor with precision, as if it has been coming for us all along.

  I release my breath first, only to gulp down another just as quickly. I have loathed this very scent ever since it first emerged in my dreams. Overshadowing my better judgment, I say aloud what we all know to be true.