Dark Shadow

by Danielle Rose

  He swipes his nail across his neck, piercing his skin. Deep trails of crimson slide down until they pool around the collar of his shirt, staining it bloodred. And he is laughing—a hypnotic, ghostly snicker that makes my own blood run cold.

  I step forward, mesmerized by the sight before me. No longer claimed by the desire to run, I hold out my hand to the rogue, who cackles as the tears drip down my cheeks, splashing on the cement at my feet.

  And I call to him, my voice so low, so whispery soft, I’m not sure he can hear me from where he stands.

  “Jasik.”

  Chapter Five

  With a steaming mug of blood in hand, Holland greets me as soon as I walk into the kitchen. He smiles widely, his gaze flicking between his breakfast offering and me. Unable to silence my rumbling stomach, I comply, sliding into the seat in front of him.

  “Morning,” I say as I grab the mug.

  Holland responds, but I don’t hear him. Focused solely on my breakfast, I drink the warm, thick liquid quickly.

  When I’m done, I lick my lips and set down the mug. With breakfast done, I’m already itching to leave, but I have a feeling escaping the manor won’t be easy. Holland is eying me curiously, and I know any hope I had of leaving without answering his pressing questions is moot.

  “You had a vision again, didn’t you?” he asks.

  Apparently we’re diving right in. Pleasantries be damned.

  I shrug in response, my mind swirling, still attempting to decipher just what spirit was trying to tell me. True, I had a dream, but it’s never that simple. Just because I had the vision doesn’t mean I’m ready and able to discuss it.

  “Ava, I might not be a spirit user, but I am knowledgeable,” he says. “Let me help you.”

  “I’m not sure you can,” I admit.

  Holland sighs heavily. “Stop being a spirit hog and share some details. You never know. I may hold all the answers.” He taps his temple playfully, a grin creasing his smooth cheeks.

  I sigh sharply, caving.

  “It started in my room,” I say. “I woke up, and I was by my bed, watching us sleep. Something else was in the room with me. A wolf or something.”

  Holland frowns. “Interesting. Wolves hold a lot of symbolism in our culture. They’re one of the most respected and feared animals.”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t a regular wolf. For one thing, it was a lot bigger. Massive in size. Its fur was so dark it almost completely blended into the shadows. Maybe it did. Its eyes were glowing and golden in color. It had the form of a wolf, but I’m not so sure it was a regular wolf.”

  Holland recoils, a grimace painted across his face. “Seriously creepy. Are your visions always like this? So dark and detailed?”

  “Usually dark but rarely detailed,” I say. “Spirit wants to warn me of impending doom, but it’s my responsibility to connect the dots.”

  Holland nods. “I suppose that makes sense. What happens next?”

  “The gargoyle out front comes alive and slays the beast,” I say, snorting.

  Saying it aloud makes it sound far more comical than it was in the moment. I’ll admit, I was terrified. It might have seemed like a child’s nightmare, but there is something exceptionally horrifying about bearing witness to storybook creatures springing to life—especially when I am unable to protect myself from them.

  Holland fights back a snicker, just like I expected him to. This is the worst part about being a spirit witch. No one understands. Explaining my visions to someone incapable of experiencing that level of pure terror is impossible. Spirit might use symbolism, but rarely does spirit sugarcoat lessons needed to be learned. This makes for unnerving dreams and awkward conversations.

  I roll my eyes at Holland’s obvious smirk and continue.

  “That part makes sense to me. Legend says gargoyles are the vampires’ daylight protectors. They turn to stone at night when vampires are awake and able to protect themselves, and they come to life during the day while vampires slumber. I think it was just my imagination getting the best of me.”

  “I suppose, but why would your subconscious include that in your vision?” Holland asks. “Why now? Why during this particular dream?”

  I swallow hard, mentally preparing to admit all my faults. “Because I’ve been bitter about what happened. When Will and Amicia… When we lost them, it was during daylight hours. If the legend were true, we would have been protected. They wouldn’t have died. Maybe we would have had more time. Maybe I could have…”

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair before resting my arms atop the table. I clasp my hands together, forming a single fist so solid, so strong, I believe one hard smack against the wood surface will cause it to splinter. And I know I have that sort of rage stored within me, bubbling just beneath the calm, collected exterior I show the world. It’s a lie. It’s always a lie.

  I stare past Holland, peering into the backyard. I can see them from here. They’re always close, always alone. Cold and hard, a sturdy vision of eternal resilience, their tombstones mock my pain. When I close my eyes and listen deeply, I hear their cries. They sound the same as they did the day they died. That’s why I hate the darkness, the shadow. I’m surrounded by it constantly, and when it consumes me, I experience nothing but agony and regret.

  Holland grabs hold of my hands, sorrow in his eyes. It’s painful to simply look at him. I know the torture I see there is reflected in me. We all carry our heavy loss together, but some bear the weight more than others.

  “Ava, legends are complicated. They require a lot of moving parts to work cohesively. Nothing is ever simple when it comes to magic.”

  I jerk my hands free, needing space. I clear my throat, intending to change the subject. The last thing I need right now is to discuss Will or Amicia or the fact that I still hold a grudge against a stone artifact on our front porch. I don’t want to talk about legends, so I settle on my vision.

  Sniffling, with arms crossed over my chest as my last protective barrier, I say, “After that, my dream abruptly changed and I was somewhere dark. A tunnel or maybe a cave. I’m not sure. It wasn’t familiar to me. I thought I was alone, but then Hikari spoke, and I realized we were stuck there together. We were both injured and scared. She mentioned that we were surrounded, but I didn’t sense anyone else. Before I could see more, it changed again. Hikari was gone.”

  Holland frowns, searching his mind. His eyes are hazy, and he remains unblinking for so long it makes my own eyes water.

  “Holland?” I say softly, and he blinks several times as his vision adjusts, focusing on me.

  “Sorry. What happened next?”

  “I was outside, in downtown Darkhaven. The sun was out, but it was still dark out. Someone was there, but I couldn’t see her face. But she knew me. I could tell she knew me, but I didn’t recognize her. Her face was blurred.”

  Holland’s brow furrows, and he looks slightly dazed as he contemplates what I’ve said. This time, I wait for him to speak. Dissecting a spirit witch’s dreams isn’t like science class.

  “I think we can assume the girl in your vision is someone you haven’t met yet but will meet whenever this vision comes true. That would explain why your astral self didn’t recognize her. You haven’t seen her yet.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I guess. That makes sense.”

  “Did she seem friendly?” he asks. “Was she an ally or a foe?”

  I think about the vision, but very little of it focused on her. This is typical of spirit. It never lingers too long on any one aspect. That would make decoding the clues far too easy.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure,” I say. “I felt okay around her. When something sinister is near, I can feel it in my dream. I know when evil is there, when spirit is warning me about something wicked. I didn’t feel that way around her, but that’s not to say she’s a potential ally. If we do end up meeting, we should be careful around her. The fact that she was in my dream is peculiar enough.”

  “I agree. We need to be
smart about this considering how many dreams you’ve had of Jasik.”

  My heart sinks at the mention of my sire’s name. The reality that I might lose him is still sinking in.

  “Is that all that happened?” he asks.

  I glance away, stalling by fidgeting with the empty mug in front of me. How much should I confess? Is it fair to share the final details with Holland before I’ve even warned Jasik? After all, this is Jasik’s life we’re talking about. He should be warned first.

  But I know the last part of my dream was the part spirit wanted me to see. All of my previous visions involved Jasik dying an immortal’s death, but this time, he was reborn as a rogue vampire. That must mean something, but I refuse to believe he would turn rogue.

  After I transitioned, Jasik explained to me that becoming a rogue vampire is a choice. Submitting to the innate evil tendencies vampires inherit, rogues succumb to their dark side, choosing to take innocent lives. It’s that loss of innocence in the vampire that completes the transformation, and as far as I know, no one has ever reverted back, shedding the rogue nature and being reborn as a vampire, which is why I know Jasik would never willingly turn rogue. He values his life too much. He has a nest to protect, a brother, me… He wouldn’t just walk away from the life he’s built, even if his sire is dead and he’s still dealing with that reality, that pain.

  “Did you see him die again?” Holland whispers, interrupting my thoughts.

  I nod, not meeting his gaze. Internally, I justify I didn’t technically lie, but I know my eyes will give away my secrets. So I keep my lids hooded by staring at the table. I scratch at the wood with my nail, carving a small crater.

  “Ava, I promise, I am working as hard as I can to translate your dreams so we can be better prepared for the moment when it…when it happens.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. This is the first time I’ve actually spoken about the dreams as visions, as a reality I will soon face. Hearing the truth in Holland’s words forces all the air from my lungs, and I gasp, my chest spasming painfully. I clutch my shirt, bunching the fabric in my palms.

  The amulet dangling at my collar burns against my flesh, and I wince at the sudden pain that shoots through me.

  “Ava,” Holland whispers, but I’m already standing. I rise so quickly my chair falls backward, smacking against the tile floor.

  “I can’t listen to this,” I hiss.

  My skin sizzles where the amulet grazes against it, and I gnaw on my lower lip. I haven’t told anyone that I summoned the magic in order to escape the fire, and I don’t want that revelation to come because the scent of my burning flesh is wafting through the air.

  So I run. I tear through the kitchen and into the dining room, dashing down the hall until I reach the front door. I glance back before I close it behind me.

  The manor is still silent this early in the night. It’s almost peaceful, as if my world isn’t crumbling around me as I stand, gasping for air, brushing away the tears.

  The others will wake soon, but I’ve decided that I’ll be long gone.

  Closing the door, I rest against its solid wood frame, leaning my head against the stained-glass windows at its center. I listen intently, but I never hear Holland approach. I don’t expect him to. He knows I need space, time to consider what my visions mean.

  I turn, stepping away from the doors, and look into the distance, watching as a mist forms around the forest. The fog will soon be so dense I won’t be able to see more than a few feet in front of me, and even though I know it’s reckless, I have made my decision. It’s the only way I can successfully avoid the others while I wrap my mind around everything that’s happened.

  I intend to patrol the woods—something I haven’t done in more days than I can count. I stopped patrolling after we lost half our nest—some to death, others to the promise of new leadership elsewhere. I was angry with the witches for taking Amicia and Will from me, but a part of me, however small, thought there wasn’t a good reason to continue our patrols. We hunted to protect the town, and that’s exactly where the witches resided. If they didn’t want a truce, they wouldn’t continue to benefit from our patrols. In my mind, it was that simple. Now, I see how misguided I was, how easily I allowed my emotions to manipulate my morals.

  I walk to the edge of the porch, the tips of my boots hanging over the step, and I stop. I close my eyes, taking deep breaths and letting the refreshing air wash over me. I feel stronger when I am outside, running through the woods like an uncaged animal. I feel free.

  I look to the moon for comfort, and she obliges, allowing her bright, iridescent rays to shine down on me. If I plan to hunt, I must lean on her for strength. I am rusty and distracted, weak and emotional. But I yearn to make her proud, to make them all proud.

  The vampires aren’t happy with me—rightfully so—but if they see I am trying to satisfy the needs of this nest, maybe they will overlook my secrets. I plan to right the wrongs I have made, even if I have to hunt and kill every remaining rogue vampire lurking in these woods to prove my dedication to this nest.

  Regardless of how long I stalk this forest, I know Holland will be waiting for me. He understands that I need time. Watching your lover die over and over again—and being the sole witness to the act—takes a toll. I have to carry the weight of that truth, and it’s not an easy vision to withstand.

  I crouch at the top of the stairs, resting my elbows on my thighs. Our daylight protector—the gargoyle—is perched beside me. Dark gray and stained by years of elemental harassment, he appears fierce and formidable, as though the simple act of snapping my fingertips will bring him forth, awakening him from his slumber to avenge our fallen.

  I decide that wouldn’t be the case, regardless of Holland’s explanation of legends. The gargoyle is made of stone, with sharp angles and striking curves, much like the Victorian manor he presides over. But in my dream, I witnessed his wrath. He sprang to life, protecting me against a beast I never knew I needed to fear.

  Unsure of what to believe, I sigh and pat his head, wondering how far my imagination will run wild with the idea that gargoyles truly are alive. I might dream about him again, night after night, and he will become an unwitting participant in this desperate charade to save Jasik’s soul.

  Cool and smooth, he stares past me, unblinking, unmoving. Never looking but always watching.

  “Keep them safe until I return,” I whisper, choosing to believe he will obey.

  Spring is settling over Darkhaven. The cool breeze has shifted, becoming warmer, more delicate. The harsh reality of the abrupt seasonal change is welcoming, even though it irritates my heightened senses. I scrunch my nose at all the new scents lingering in the air.

  The earliest perennial flowers have begun to bloom, surprisingly withstanding last night’s sudden frost. Pops of color burst through the forest as if someone intentionally planted a path of tulips to lead me through the darkness.

  They glisten in the night, sparkling against the moonlight. Some are bright red; others are yellow and orange and purple. I linger, admiring the multicolored ones. I bend down to pick one and inhale its sweet aroma. Flowers remind me of herbs, and herbs remind me of home—the very one I lost. My heart burns at the thought.

  As I walk, I carry the flower with me, plucking each petal and offering it to the earth as I hike deeper into the woods.

  There is a crunch under my feet familiar from previous months I patrolled these woods, but it is pliable now. As winter begins to hibernate, the world softens and the animals wake. I hear them now, skittering among the brush, returning to their nests and dens. Even in darkness, life emerges victorious. I must remind myself of this. The world might be brutal, but hope can prevail.

  With the flower fully plucked, I toss the stem to the ground and focus better on my surroundings. I need to be alert, but all I can think about is my nightmare and how the new man in town might be linked to my visions of Jasik dying.

  Spirit was warning me of what’s to come, but what part
was simply a dream? Which part was simply my imagination? Who was the mysterious girl, and is she linked to the person who burned down my house?

  I kick at the ground, scuffing my boots. Broken twigs soar through the air, landing in a heap several feet away.

  The farther I am from the manor, the less my skin burns each time the amulet sways against the raw flesh there. I still haven’t dared to look at it. I can feel it tethering together as it heals itself, and soon, when I do look down, it will appear untouched, unwounded. Only I will know that it’s a lie.

  I think about that moment in the basement when the smoke intensified so much I couldn’t breathe. Somehow, I know I should have died down there. If I hadn’t relied on the amulet’s strength, I would not be here right now. So even though I know I promised I would never harness the evil entity’s power, I can’t say I am regretful of my actions.

  I glance at the sky, assessing the time from the moon’s position. The others should be awake by now. If they haven’t already noticed, they will soon realize I’m not there. Holland will tell them about our conversation. He’ll explain how I ran out, and they will argue about my emotional state, about my visions. They’ll be angry with me for not being there to talk about the situation. What they won’t expect is that I have no remorse for leaving so hastily.

  A girl can only handle so much, and right now, my basket is overflowing. I’m at the edge, staring into the abyss, and begging the universe not to push me into the darkness.

  But even I know that’s a fool’s dream.

  “Hello, pretty lady,” someone says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I freeze, the tiny hairs covering my body standing on end, alerting me to the speaker’s presence. If I weren’t so completely overwhelmed by my anxiety—after all, it’s not exactly easy to sneak up on a hybrid—I might consider internally chastising my supposedly heightened senses for their delayed reaction.

  Of course, I don’t do this. Instead, I feign confidence in the way only I can. I spin on my heels, face masked with the best death-dagger glare I can offer.