Dark Shadow

by Danielle Rose

  As I search for my former comrades, I come to another reality.

  The basement is empty.

  But that can’t be. I know I heard them. I felt their pain, listened to their cries for help. It wasn’t my imagination, I am sure of it. And yet, I am alone, greeted only by the everlasting flames, which seem to grow deadlier with each passing second.

  I am trapped. Alone. Surrounded by nothing but a crackling, hungry fire. I sense the way it craves my body, my life—I have felt that similar desperate desire rooted so deeply I could obey nothing else beyond my blood lust. I know I am not safe. It will stop at nothing to claim my soul.

  I press firmly against the brick wall and slide down until I am seated on the dirt floor. I put too much pressure on my ankle and wince at the pain. It flashes through me like a burst of lightning on a hot summer day. I can hear the rumbling thunder in my chest as a scream erupts from my lips.

  I was trapped in this space not that long ago. In a strangely similar situation, Will and I fought to survive the brutal attacks my former coven bestowed upon us. It was one of the last moments I had with Will before he died. After we escaped this prison, he left, seeking answers to my predicament. I had so many questions for him about his life, about hybrids, but I always assumed we had more time. Even today, as I rushed to aid the fallen, I didn’t consider that tonight would be my last.

  The fire grows stronger, more violent, and I am pinned in place. I cannot move forward, for the fire is inching ever closer. It’s lashing at me, teasing my flesh, singeing my clothes. I cannot move backward, for the stone surrounding me has formed a prison. I push against it, but it does not give way.

  I suck in deep breath after deep breath but still don’t inhale even a small gulp of air. The smoke forms a thick film on my tongue, and I squirm at the bitter taste it leaves in my mouth. My skin is covered in ash—remnants of the house that protected me all these years. I swipe at the sweat that curdles across my forehead as it mixes with soot.

  Just when I think I can’t handle the warmth any longer, something in the air just…shifts. It startles my senses all at once, and deep in my gut, the predator stirs. It’s a warning. I feel the certainty like a cold splash of water against my torrid skin. It jolts me upright. I sit straighter, peering through the smog. I see no better than I did before, but the feeling is no less gripping.

  Something has changed.

  The fire has sparked to life, and an entity is claiming this space as its own. The basement may appear empty, but I know I am not alone. I am sure of it.

  The fever in the air intensifies tenfold, and I feel it sizzle in my chest, scarring my lungs. I know this is it. This is the moment I must fight back. If I don’t, I won’t survive this fire.

  I throw out my hands, summoning my magic. I call for anything—a burst of air, a stream of water, a grumble from the earth. Anything that might aid me now is all I ask for. But nothing happens. The air shifts slightly as I beckon its wrath. The dirt under my butt simply rumbles in protest. The water sprouting from my palms is merely a trickle, unable to extinguish even embers.

  I try again and again—all the while, it is becoming harder to keep my eyes open, to focus on my task at hand. I notice I am slouching now, but I don’t remember lolling over. My head is pounding, my lungs burning, and my eyes are brutally dry. I close them, welcoming the dark.

  But again, something awakens. The silent presence surrounding me strengthens as I grow weaker, and I know I am seconds away from death.

  It feeds off my weakness, growing more powerful with each dying breath I take, but I refuse to fall victim to this invisible killer.

  In a last, desperate attempt to seem formidable, I intend to shout a spell laced with obscenities, knowing this is an absolutely tragic way to die. But still, I suck in a deep gust of air, Latin incantation in mind. But instead of hexing my attacker, I am choking. My lungs spasm, hacking involuntarily and so violently, I fall over.

  I claw at the dirt, and the deeper I dig, the cooler it becomes. I continue, seeking shelter or refuge among the earth, accomplishing nothing more than digging my own gravesite. I pile a small mound before me, knowing it is not enough to smother the flames, but I continue until I can’t bear it any longer.

  Lying on the ground, I open my heavy eyelids to see a figure walking closer. It morphs as it approaches, as if it too is made from smoke and fire rather than flesh and bone. It withstands the heat with strength I envy.

  The more I look at it, the more fearful I become. It appears tall and wispy, a dark, shadowy presence that makes the amulet at my clavicle rattle with excitement.

  I know I have no other choice, so I grab on to my amulet, squeezing it tightly. I lower my defenses, summoning the magic encased within, allowing it to escape its prison just this once, and it explodes from my chest, erupting through my mouth as I scream so loud the foundation shakes.

  I harness just enough power to clear the path before me. A tornado of swirling dirt billows all around me, smothering the flames, offering a false sense of security. Without looking back, without making eye contact with whatever creature was hidden in the shadows, I run for the stairs, ascending with experienced ease.

  From behind, I hear it laugh, the sound malevolent and ghastly. It’s so deep and ominous, it makes my heart melt in my chest—I am certain whatever that thing was, it is the embodiment of evil. And I was locked in the basement with it.

  Somehow, it knows me. It wants me. And I know escaping the basement is only the beginning.

  “Ava?” someone says, catching my attention as I burst through the closet door. I nearly trip over my feet as I spin around.

  I turn to see Jasik, and I collapse against him, finding strength in his embrace. We sit for only a moment as I gather my breath, lungs happily filling with oxygen, before he pulls away, ignoring my protests.

  “We have to leave,” Jasik says, his voice urgent.

  “But I still haven’t found them yet,” I say, pleading with him.

  I know she isn’t in this house, but it feels wrong to retreat. I’m still convinced I heard her cries, even though I am sure that was a cruel trick inflicted by whatever monstrosity resides in that basement. After all the horrific things my coven did in that basement, I wouldn’t be surprised if yet another evil entity existed—and now it’s become my problem.

  “You don’t understand,” Jasik says. “This was no accident. Humans are talking. They saw someone—a man. They claim he started the fire.”

  “A man? But who? Why?” I ask, a million questions looping endlessly in my mind. If this man started the fire, then what was in the basement with me?

  “I don’t know, but we intend to find out,” he says.

  I nod, and he leads us through the kitchen and into the dining room. I glance back, watching the house I grew up in burn. My eyes sting with tears, but I wipe them away quickly.

  As we exit through the sliding glass doors, I catch sight of myself in the shards of broken mirror scattered across the floor. Covered in soot and clothes singed, I can see that I very nearly died today. But that isn’t what concerns me.

  While in the basement, I tried to use my magic, but I couldn’t. I’m not so sure my inability to summon the elements was because of my lack of strength. I fear something far worse was at play.

  I was trapped by a force more powerful than me—a hybrid. This was no simple fire. Magically infused, it was lit to lead me here, to discover the disappearance of my coven. Whoever lit it targeted me by threatening the weakest parts of my soul—my inherent, unshakable love for those who granted me life. We may not be on speaking terms, and we might not be considered allies, but my duty to protect Darkhaven runs deep. Its hold is something I can never escape.

  But my panic runs even deeper than that, knowing someone new in town—who has made it clear he’s targeting me specifically—doesn’t hold my attention as long as it should. I am struck by something far worse, far more vicious.

  I can feel the dread, the horror strewn
across my face, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see it. Instead, the vampire looking back at me is smiling, with tiny black veins threading across her skin. My crimson irises are glistening mischievously, as though the girl behind the mirror knows that this is only the beginning.

  My reflection laughs at me. I hear the perverse sound echoing all around me as silent whispers meant only for me, and it sounds like a thousand murderous cackling crows.

  Chapter Four

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stare at my palm. The emblem burned into my flesh from touching the scorched doorknob is gone, having healed over long before I even returned to the manor, but the psychological pain still lingers. It’s an everlasting sting born from my inability to protect my childhood home. There are certain things I am accepting in this life as inevitable, but being a failure is not one of them.

  I ball my fist, not wanting to look at it any longer. My pristine, mark-free skin mocks my pain, and that only infuriates me further.

  As soon as we returned home, I excused myself, craving a hot shower over communication—a rarity for me. I could tell the others were irritated with me and my desire to escape—after all, Jasik was the sole vampire who understood just how bad things had gotten—but I didn’t care. I needed space.

  Usually, I am all for talking things out. That’s how we learn, we grow. That is how we break free from the prejudices instilled at birth. For the past several months, I have wanted nothing more than to have a conversation with the vampires and witches of Darkhaven. A sit-down chat to just let it all out, to clear the air. Admitting our misdeeds was supposed to be the first step to an alliance, but that never came to pass.

  Ever since I hexed the witches and lost friends, I have been slowly shutting down, building walls around me and my far-too-breakable heart. I have been keeping secrets and avoiding difficult conversations. This is not like me, and as much as I want to chalk it up to a bad case of survivor’s guilt, I’m not so sure that is why I suddenly feel…different.

  My mind flashes back to that sinister reflection. Seeing myself grinning back at me, when I know I most certainly was not smiling, is just further proof that something awful is about to happen. Spirit is awake and aware, and I have not been heeding her call. Now, there will be hell to pay.

  After I shower and change, tossing my singed clothes into the wastebasket, I’m still not ready to talk about what happened in that house. I decide since I have been stalling this whole time, what’s another hour? Eventually, I will have to go downstairs—after all, I am famished—and explain how doomed we all are, but right now, this very second, I’m just not ready to admit that. As much as I hate failure, I seem to be spectacularly good at defeat.

  The others are waiting for me downstairs, growing more irritable by the second. I step closer to my bedroom door, pressing my ear against the solid wood. They mumble, desperate to keep their voices low enough to outsmart my heightened senses. I may not catch every word, but I do not miss the doubt or concern in their words.

  Everyone is there—the other four hunters and Holland—and I imagine they are arguing about how I can’t hide forever. I snort at the idea that this—me hiding—is our drama for the evening. If only they knew just how bad things can get…

  Even though I know I should put on a brave face and head downstairs, I step away, lingering back, not wanting to face their wrath. It’s the questions I fear. Not just theirs. But also mine. I have so many, and every second I spend hashing out the details of what happened after I abandoned Jasik and Malik in favor of saving my mother, I am no closer to answers—and it’s answers we all need.

  I may not be able to figure out what happened after the house was set on fire, but I certainly have no issues coming up with even more questions or outlandish scenarios.

  Who is the man the humans believe started the fire? Why did he target my former house? How did I hear voices yet find no one inside? What happened in the basement, when the fire intensified so fiercely and so quickly that magic must have been involved? Does that mean that man is aware of the existence of magic? Or was he not even human to begin with? It wouldn’t be the first time a witch or vampire was mislabeled as human. What will happen now that I’ve accessed the power of the dark entity within the amulet? What about the crows and my nightmares? Are they connected to what happened today?

  But more importantly, I still don’t know where my mother is. I know what my nestmates will ask—they probably have similar questions—but I can’t answer them. Instead, I am left to battle myself.

  I don’t know what happened at that house!

  I scream the words internally, even though I know it isn’t enough. It will not stop my head from spinning or my heart from exploding.

  I might not know what happened there, but I know what I heard.

  I heard their cries!

  Again, I scream the words, but they fall silent upon my lips, just as the witches’ screams fell upon deaf ears—everyone’s ears but mine, that is.

  It was not my imagination.

  Yet I searched every room, every floor, opening every single door in that house. I found no one…

  I repeat myself, but this time, I speak aloud—softly but firmly—as if even I need convincing.

  “It wasn’t my imagination.”

  Where is my mother?

  If she wasn’t at home, where was she? Why would she be anywhere else at that time of night? Considering the hex placed upon her, she wouldn’t have risked being out at night. She is smarter than that. She would have stayed home as soon as the sun set.

  It doesn’t make sense!

  I plop onto my bed, resting my elbows against my thighs as I bury my face in my palms. I scratch at my scalp, but no matter how hard I try to dig for answers, my mind is still blank. Nothing makes sense—not my dreams, not the crows, not the cackling I hear in the depths of my soul. I am terrified to look myself in the mirror because I fear she will look back at me. That girl I saw in the shards of broken glass bore my face, but she was not me.

  I hate to admit it, but life was a lot easier when I wasn’t speaking to my mother. I didn’t worry about her safety because I trusted she had the knowledge and good judgment to take care of herself.

  I like to think she is with friends—maybe another coven member—and she probably hasn’t thought about me since we formally cut ties. Even as our home burned, rubble turning to ash, she likely never thought about the fact that this was my childhood home, and in the time it took to strike a match, everything from my former existence was just…gone.

  I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut so tightly I am convinced the motion can erase the last several hours of my life. It doesn’t work. I try again and again. I stop only when I hear the door.

  Jasik smiles weakly and walks over to me. I don’t know how long I have been here, avoiding them, but I notice how much quieter it is downstairs. The echoing voices that plagued me earlier aren’t wafting through the halls, and suddenly I feel an unbearable amount of loneliness, as if everyone on the planet simply vanished.

  My sire sits on the bed beside me and grabs my hand, tethering his long fingers with mine. We are linked in so many invisible ways; sometimes, it’s nice to feel our physical connection too.

  My body tingles where our skin meets, and I feel my cheeks heat. Our bond might not grant Jasik true control over my actions, but he absolutely affects my emotions—in all the best belly-warming and heart-fluttering ways. I have come to relish these sensations. They make me feel normal. Like he’s just a boy. And I’m just a girl. We are happy and in love, and we have the rest of our lives to explore what that truly means.

  But then I blink, and I am cast out of our fairy tale wonderland and thrust into a world cloaked in shadows.

  “You can come downstairs now,” Jasik says.

  He smiles halfheartedly. I know his words were meant as a soft joke, an easy way to better my mood, but they sting nonetheless. Apparently my cowardice is noticeable to everyone.

  Al
l the warm, fuzzy feelings nestled in my gut stop swirling at his words, and I shake my head.

  “I’m not ready yet,” I say painfully.

  “I told them not to push you,” he says. “I explained how hard this is for you.”

  I smile when I look at him, but I don’t know what to say. True, seeing my childhood home on fire—and nearly dying there myself—has taken a toll on me, but I imagine I don’t have many more chances. I have risked a lot over these past several months, and the cost is more than most can bear.

  “I’m sorry, Ava,” Jasik whispers. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you.”

  I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. All at once, I feel the heat of the flames against my skin. I feel raw, exposed. I smell my flesh burning as the fire licks my skin. I dab at my forehead with my free hand and notice how hot the room has become since Jasik entered.

  “I promise we’ll find answers,” he continues when I don’t respond.

  “I know,” I choke out, hating that my voice sounds so weak and squeaky.

  My heart is pounding in my chest, making me light-headed and woozy. My stomach tightens, squeezing my innards and twisting until they nearly become goo. Why am I having such a visceral reaction to this? Jasik is far from confrontational, but my skin is buzzing at his contact—and no longer in a good way.

  “Holland wanted me to tell you that he plans to do some research,” Jasik says.

  “On the fire?” I ask. I lick my lips, finding them dry, chapped. At this point, I welcome his help.

  Jasik shakes his head.

  His thumb swirls invisible patterns against my skin, and I focus on that small movement, letting the world around me disappear. Maybe if I have something to ground me, this will all feel easier.

  “On your dreams, the crows,” Jasik says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I suck in a sharp breath and hold it, waiting for his next question. I don’t need to be psychic to know where this is going.

  But I’m not ready—I’m not ready for this conversation. I avoided the others for this very reason. Not only do I not have the answers the vampires seek, but I am also losing my grasp on reality. How else can I explain my sinister reflection?