Moonlight Rising

by Linski, Megan

  Fear is the weapon of the night, she reminded herself. That was one of the lessons Sister Danica would pound into their brains.

  “I am not afraid,” she murmured. “I walk in the light. Fear is a shadow that has no power over me.” As part of their daily chapel time, they had to recite parts of the Creed of Light over and over. Like many of her classmates, Claire had always mindlessly mimicked the sisters. But for the first time, she believed it, or at least wanted to. “Powers of the light, guide me and bring me to safety. Guide me back to the light.”

  Barely making a sound, she whispered the mantra and the short invocation over and over, a counter-rhythm to her pedaling feet. She didn’t expect anything to happen. The repetition gave her something to focus on besides the lurid images of her own body, skin turned dark gray and limbs mutilated from the hunger-hounds’ bites.

  Over the crest of a hill, she could see the glowing aura that surrounded the shelter on Anderson Way. Centered in that aura was a brighter light, like a light bulb floating in the middle of the street. Claire frowned, easing to a halt. The light brightened, moving toward her on wide, beating wings. Her jaw dropped in surprise as she recognized the shape. It was the hawk familiar.

  Impossible. Had the gods actually answered?

  The hawk flew in a tight spiral around her, then further down the street, past the shelter. It wheeled around and returned to her, then followed the same loop again.

  “Are you leading me to Shayla?”

  The hawk threw its head back and opened its jaws, releasing a silent gout of flame.

  She hesitated. “Did the gods send you?”

  In response, the hawk flapped its wings and flew ahead. Following the same direction it had been going before, its path took it beyond the Anderson Way shelter, further toward the edge of town close to the river. That meant further from the Gamma-Rose shelter, and further still from the caravan.

  She wasn’t ready to call the hawk’s arrival divine intervention. Perhaps it had only just found her again after being scared away in the tussle with the demon and its hounds. But its timing was pretty damn good, on the heels of a plea for help. And it seemed to be telling her to keep going on to find Shayla.

  What was she supposed to do? If she stayed in the shelter for the night, she could still get up with enough time to get across town in the relative safety of twilight hour and try to meet the caravan before they left. But she’d have to contend with the knowledge that Will was officially an orphan, barring a miracle. Until five minutes ago, she could have said she’d done everything she could to help him. But the hawk changed things. Now there was one last shred of hope on wings of flame.

  She shook her head and gave herself a jolt forward on the bike, following the hawk’s path. It was here for a reason, wasn’t it? Whether it had simply found its way or had been sent by an unseen force, it was here and the path forward was clear.

  Claire continued down the road, her wisps still illuminating the path around her. The voice taunting her had finally ceased. The quiet was still broken by piercing howls and the distant rumble of thunder. Glancing over her shoulder, the Anderson Way shelter already seemed miles away, its light dimming in the distance.

  She kept hoping the hawk would stop, as each block she traveled was even further from the caravan, but still it flew. Her legs began to ache from the effort of pedaling, but still it flew. She had lost track of time when the first of her wisps winked out. It was there one second, then disappeared, like blowing out a candle. Then the second followed, and before she could react, they had all gone dark. Squeezing the bike’s brakes to stop her momentum, she tried to summon them again. She had barely managed a spark before pain twanged between her temples, making her so dizzy she could barely stand. She tried again and stumbled.

  Fear gripped her as she tried to acclimate to her newly dark surroundings. After the initial shock of losing the brighter light, her eyes adjusted. It wasn’t completely dark. A pale orange glow suffused the atmosphere, radiating from a nearby building.

  The hawk had stopped its forward movement, and instead was circling upward over the building. Beyond a chest-high stone wall was a massive stone church, casting a long shadow over the road. The metal arch over the opening in the wall was threaded through with dark vines that sagged under the weight of red blooms that glowed from within.

  With her heart drumming an accelerating beat against her ribs, Claire walked the bike forward until she stood squarely in the gate. Sconces on either side of the arch held dancing orange flames. Despite the warmth, the light was not the comforting familiarity of sunlight. A circular glass pane on the church’s front façade had been blacked out. Trickles of the paint dripped down the stone like blood. Glowing sigils burned against the black, pulsing red-orange like a dimmed candle wick. The air felt thick and humid with darkness.

  A warning growl broke her concentration. More growls joined it in a chorus. Fear trickled down her spine like cold sweat. Just inside the gate, a pack of hunger-hounds formed an arc across the path, blocking her entry. Claire swallowed hard, backing away slightly with her weight still resting on the bike for a quick escape.

  This wasn’t just the lair of some lesser demon. This place belonged to a witch. Dread seized her with cold fingers squeezing into her heart. Could this be the Prime the sisters were whispering about?

  Deeper shadows skulked on the roof, forming dark splotches against the night sky. Red eyes burned in those hulking forms, glaring down at her.

  This was not a place for one lowly novice.

  As she stood there, debating between the smart thing and the right thing, the hounds parted suddenly. They retreated to line the cracked stone path that led up to the front steps of the church.

  A figure emerged from the shadows. Blonde hair caught the orange light, glinting like polished bronze. In the dim light, the familiar face knocked the wind out of Claire.

  It was Data.

  Chapter Six

  -four hours and thirty-six minutes until sunrise-

  “Claire, holy crap. God, I’m glad I found you in time. We should go,” her friend said, holding out her hand. She was dressed in dark clothes similar to Claire’s. A leather sheath was strapped across her back, carrying the blue-handled katana that Data preferred for combat.

  “What are you doing here?” Claire breathed. The hunger-hounds were sitting on the edge of the path, calm and patient like trained dogs. Why weren’t they moving to attack?

  “I was so worried about you,” she said. “Out here all by yourself.”

  “How did you…” Claire asked. Her friend’s eyes were wide and concerned. Data’s hand was still extended to Claire. “You’re not Data.”

  Data’s face wrinkled in confusion. “You’re stressed. Don’t be silly. It’s me.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Data wouldn’t be out here.”

  “My best friend came out all alone,” she said. “I’ll help you find Shayla. But we have to move. Come with me.” She thrust her hand out again. On the breeze, Claire caught a familiar whiff of the sweet peppermints that Data loved. But under that fresh mint smell was something rotten, something that was freshly dead and certainly didn’t come from her clean freak of a friend.

  Claire seized the cord on her belt, bracing herself to charge it and smack this thing wearing Data’s face. “How do you know that name?”

  Data cocked her head. Then a coy, satisfied smirk spread across her face. Data didn’t smirk, and Claire didn’t like the smug expression on her face. She was barely surprised when her friend’s face split like curtains from an even seam right down her nose and through the bow of her lips. For a moment, a familiar, scaly visage took its place. Then it shifted again into the face of a handsome man with pale skin and dark, messy hair. Data’s frame expanded, reshaping into the body of a large man. He almost looked human, except for the glowing red irises. He tilted his head and said, “I almost had it. Names always get me.” He sighed dramatically. “Note to self.”

 
Claire sent a burning rush of energy into the cord, snapping it taut. As the weapon illuminated, the two lines of hounds broke. The beasts fell back on their haunches, teeth bared as they prepared to attack. Her heart raced as she swept her gaze across them. She couldn’t hold off this many, but she wasn’t going to stand here and let them tear her apart.

  One to her side leapt. She slammed the staff into the ground, emitting a protective sphere of light. Unlike before, casting the sphere this time knocked the wind out of her. Like when she’d called her sun-wisps, the bites in her arm and calf seized up, and she nearly lost hold of her staff. The sphere flickered, but held.

  “Hold,” the demon-man said. He narrowed his eyes and barked something in demonic speech. The hounds backed away, but didn’t break their hungry stare. The demon shouted something that hurt Claire’s ears, like something sharp piercing her eardrums. The hounds whimpered, then broke away to run to the shadows along the sides of the church. When only the demon remained, he fixed his scarlet gaze on Claire. “How are you feeling?”

  “Where’s Shayla?”

  “Very direct,” the man said. “My name is Theolon, thanks for asking. I’m pleased you’ve come to visit, Claire.”

  “I don’t care who you are. Is this your place?” She could still hope that it was just the demon.

  “This is the home of my mistress,” he said. “So in a sense, it is mine, but only because it is hers.”

  “Cool story,” Claire said, hoping her bluster covered the sudden panic bubbling up in her chest like vomit. “Where’s Shayla?”

  The demon tilted his head, his toothy smile faltering. “You realize there is a thin line between direct and rude.”

  “You attacked me with your dogs. You started it,” she replied. “Just give me Shayla and I’ll go.”

  He laughed, a rich sound that might have been pleasant if it wasn’t coming from a demon’s throat. “Dear child.” Suddenly her sphere of sunlight shattered like glass. Before she could react, Theolon’s hand seized her wounded arm. His touch was so cold it burned against the torn flesh. A whimper threatened to escape her throat, but she gritted her teeth and held it back. “You are no threat to me or my mistress.”

  “You can’t kill me,” she said. “You have to uphold the Balance.”

  The demon rolled his eyes. “One could make the argument that you provoked me,” he said. He squeezed tighter against her arm, talons digging into her flesh. Despite the sharp pain, she didn’t make a sound. His smile widened as if he approved of her grim silence. “Moreover, the Balance is a covenant between witches. I am clearly no witch, and my mistress has not ordered me to harm you. That would be my prerogative, and while your sun-worshiping overseers might take justifiable retribution, that will be of no consolation to you and your pretty corpse.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, her shaking voice betraying her. If he didn’t let go soon, she was going to cry out.

  His full lips parted again in a genuine smile. “We both know that’s not true, but I like your spirit. I can see—” He snapped to attention, looking over her shoulder like he had heard something in the distance. Disappointment tugged his smile into a frown as he slumped and released Claire’s arm. Relief swept over her as she drew it close and stepped away from his reach. “As enjoyable as this bit of bluffing has been, my mistress wishes to speak to you. Will you come?”

  Never bargain with a fiend, Sister Danica had taught them. The witches of the Tenebrae and all who served them were manipulative and dangerously clever. The Balance that had been struck forbade the witches of the Tenebrae and the Lumina from seeking each other out to kill one another. It also required that both orders upheld the sanctity of free will. But once someone agreed to a demon’s temptations or a witch’s bargain, both sides were bound by that bargain. When Theolon had appeared as her friend, he’d been insisting that Claire come with him. That in itself was a bargain, and if Claire had taken his hand, he could have taken her. Without specifying where she was to go or when she could leave, he held power over her.

  “I will speak to the witch,” Claire said. “I will leave when I so choose, and you will not harm me.”

  “Yes, yes, and no,” the demon said, ticking each response off a clawed finger.

  “Then I’m not coming.”

  He shrugged. “Shame to leave the sweet boy’s mother behind when you’re so close.”

  Her stomach lurched. “You’re lying.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  With that, he turned and walked up the path. Theolon hadn’t bothered to extend his illusion to cover the scaled feet protruding from the tattered cuffs of his pants.

  Claire’s chest heaved as she watched him saunter up the path. This was foolish beyond compare. Had she already doomed herself by coming here? Even if Shayla was just inside the doorway, she might not be able to get the woman out safely.

  As she followed him up the path, the cold cramping in her wounded limbs seemed to intensify, like it was reacting to the source of dark power. She cleared the final step, and the wooden doors swung outside with a sharp creak. Inside the doors were two dark, shadowed forms pushing the doors. Their forms were humanoid, but appeared to be made of swirling smoke encased in a thin, translucent skin. They emitted a constant, unsettling murmur.

  Her heart thumped as she approached the two figures, but they made no move to attack her. When she came within a few feet of the door, they each turned toward the interior of the church, raising an arm to point inside.

  The old church had probably been beautiful once, but it was now broken and stained like the rest of the world. Once-colorful stained glass was painted over in black, covered with the burning sigils she’d seen outside. The wooden pews were askew, some broken in half and leaning drunkenly against each other for support. Dark vines twisted around the upper balcony with more of the glowing red flowers hanging plump from their stems. The smell of dirt and mildew hung thick in the air, along with the hint of something rotten.

  A flash of light streaked past. The hawk familiar landed on a railing toward the front of the church. Stained red carpet covered the raised dais. A large table covered in candles and a silver basin stood in the center of the dais. A glowing sphere of smoke floated near the back wall, with the occasional flash of green lightning emerging from its depths like a window into a thunderstorm.

  Hanging in the air in the center of the dais was a woman, wrapped in vine-like tendrils that bound her like a spider’s prey. Just below her was a woman in white. She looked almost angelic, with fine porcelain skin and delicate features, and cascading waves of red hair over her shoulders and down her back.

  Her eyes burned unnatural green as she regarded Claire. Though she was at the opposite end of the room, it sounded like she spoke directly into Claire’s ear. “Hello, Claire. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Chapter Seven

  -three hours and fifty-seven minutes until sunrise-

  Staring at the witch, Claire realized what it felt like to pass the point of no return. It felt rather like a door slamming at her back. She could no longer turn around and flee to the closest shelter, where an older and wiser adult would protect her from any real harm. Standing in the dark, dank church, face to face with a witch, she was in real trouble. Of the possible outcomes she’d considered, finding Shayla in the hands of a Tenebrae witch was one of the worst.

  She took some small comfort in the realization that she’d successfully found Shayla, but for all the trouble to get here and now to escape with both their hearts beating and souls intact, the woman might as well have been a thousand miles away. Claire placed her hand on the Apollo Cord for reassurance, feeling its warm pulse like a heartbeat beneath her trembling hand.

  “There’s no need for that meager toy,” the witch said. “Come and hold parley with me, little witchling.”

  Damp carpet squelched under her sneakers as Claire shuffled toward the witch. Halfway down the center aisle, Claire paused. “I want the woman back. You can’t
have her.”

  “Manners, not a strong suit,” the witch said. “You are in the house of Alyxaura.”

  Standing in the center of the witch’s stronghold, Claire realized each word was costly and heavy. She couldn’t be sure of Alyxaura’s power or how she might react to Claire’s bluster. Claire took a deep breath. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Please let her go.”

  “Interesting,” Alyxaura said. “Who are you, little sister of the Light?” She raised her hands to shoulder level. Claire instinctively took a step back. A chorus of whispers and unintelligible murmurs rose around her. Pools of shadow oozed along the floor, over stained pews, and down the steps of the cluttered altar. A crawling sensation prickled down Claire’s neck like a stray insect. As she swatted the back of her neck, two of the shadows swirled around Alyxaura’s ankles, twisting around her form like thick smoke. They were drawn into the palm of her outstretched hand, absorbed into her very skin. “Oh, dear,” Alyxaura said. “Stolen away from your mother. How dreadful. You were just a baby, weren’t you?”

  Claire’s chest seized up as if an iron band had locked around it. “How do you know that?”

  “My shadows hear all the sorrows you do not speak aloud,” Alyxaura said. “You know, I am very good at finding things. Lost treasures. Lost children.” Thick red hair spilled over her shoulder as she tilted her head. “Lost mothers.”

  “I won’t make a deal with you,” Claire said, but even as the words spilled over her lips, the question rang in her mind. Could this witch find her mother?

  “I could help you find whatever you desired,” Alyxaura said, as if she’d read Claire’s thoughts. “Your eyes are quite striking, Claire. I cannot help but notice you’ve still got a matching set. It is not too late to reconsider the path you’ve chosen. Or the one that was chosen for you. Forced upon you, really, and quite unfairly.”