Between the Shadow and the Soul

by Susanne Winnacker

  She tugged at the old-fashioned shackles around her wrists. They were iron and didn’t budge, but the sound of them clanking against the stone altar had drawn attention to her.

  She stifled a gasp when an old man came into view. His veins shone through his ghastly ashen skin, but much worse were the brownish blotches and spidery lines all over his body. It looked as if his skin was decaying. That probably explained the smell of rot that pinched Nela’s nose. He was dressed in a long gray frock not unlike the ones members of the Brotherhood wore, and a horrible thought grabbed her. “Are you from the Brotherhood?” What if they’d somehow forced Darko to bring her here?

  He gave her an ugly smile, revealing teeth that were coated red as if he’d drunk blood. As if he had been drinking blood for years. That would explain why he was so thin. Though he looked at least a head taller than her – it was hard to say with his bent posture – Nela was sure he weighed less than her. Had it been human blood? The hearts definitely were.

  “No, my dear. I’m definitely not a member of the Brotherhood.” A dry cackle left his lips, followed by horrible hacking. It sounded as if water filled his lungs. “I’m Darko’s Master. Maybe he’s mentioned me.”

  For an instant, Nela wondered if she was imagining this, if her mind had conjured this up as a way to cope with the loss of her parents. That would explain why she felt so detached from her emotions, almost eerily calm. Suddenly heat pressed against her eyes and a tear trickled down her cheek. She blinked furiously. This wasn’t the moment for weakness. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying.

  The old man misunderstood her reaction for fear of her own fate. “Don’t worry. It’ll be quick and you won’t feel any pain,” he said in a fake-simpery voice. “And your demise will be for a good cause. You’ll help an old man prolong his life.”

  Nela narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care if you live or die.”

  “I suppose you don’t,” he said with a nasty little smile. “But surely you care about Darko’s wellbeing? He’ll get his sister back once I’ve come to my full powers.” The old man’s cold blue eyes darted toward a figure that knelt on the ground. She would have recognized his black hair anywhere. He had his back turned to her and was kneeling beside a skeleton. That was probably the other source of the rotten smell.

  “Darko?” she tried to call, but her voice was a croak. Her neck ached from the new position. How long had she been tied to the altar? Darko hunched his shoulders as if he was trying to shield himself from her presence; he didn’t turn around to her. His fingertips were resting on the bones that were his sister’s hand. Sinews and fingernails were still attached to it. Nela lifted her head as much as she could and glimpsed at the rest of the corpse. Tufts of dark hair stuck to the skull and sinews were still attached to her legs and arms.

  “Darko? Please!” She began to struggle against her restraints and she opened her lips for another call but the old man made a slashing motion with his arm. She flinched and cold trickled over her lips, and suddenly no sound left her mouth no matter how hard she tried to scream.

  “That’s quite enough,” the old man said in a quiet voice. Nela stared desperately at the back of Darko’s head but she soon realized that she couldn’t expect his help. His sister’s body seemed to have him mesmerized. But why wasn’t he doing something? Why didn’t he care what was happening to her? What had this old man done to him?

  “You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here?” The Master asked in a conversational tone. He shuffled toward a black lectern with a large book in cracked brown leather binding lying open on it. “Several months ago I gave Darko your photo and told him to find you and determine if you were a necromancer. I knew of your uncle, you must know, so I had high hopes for you.”

  Nela’s chest tightened. She looked over to Darko once more but he seemed frozen in place. The Master had set up their first encounter? But why? What did it matter that she was a necromancer? She couldn’t do much with her powers. This didn’t make sense.

  “You see, I’m very old and I won’t last much longer. Darko has been helping me prolong my life for a long time now with the hearts you can see all around us. Darko’s quite good at luring victims into his trap.” A chilly smile curled his cracked gray lips.

  Darko had killed all those people? He didn’t try to deny it; he sat there as if this wasn’t his concern. “But I’ve known for a long time that these hearts won’t help me in the long run. But you can, or more accurately the demon that I’m going to summon with your help can.”

  Nela’s blood turned cold. A demon? She shook her head, but he simply kept talking. “Don’t worry. You won’t notice much. The demon will kill you and absorb your energy in a couple of seconds, and then I’ll tether him to me.”

  Nela stared at Darko’s head as if she could get through to him that way. He couldn’t possibly agree with his Master’s plan.

  “I’m afraid Darko won’t help you. He gained your trust on my orders. Whatever he made you see in him, it’s never been there. He betrayed you, my child.”

  A potent mix of fury and sorrow ripped through her. How dare he call her child? She didn’t even allow herself to ponder the utter feeling of desolation his words about Darko had created.

  “I think we’ve wasted enough time with our little chat,” he said. He lowered his gaze to the lectern before lifting a long knife and starting to read from the book. Nela didn’t understand the words since they were in Latin but they sent a chill down her back nevertheless.

  The hearts in the jars started pounding faster and faster with every second, reacting to the old man’s words. Their brown-red flesh constricted and expanded.

  The old man moved away from the lectern, knife in hand, and shuffled toward her. An eager gleam filled his milky-blue eyes. Nela struggled against her bonds, but apart from shaving off her skin, she didn’t accomplish anything. Darko’s master stopped beside her head and fell silent. He raised the knife over his bald head, a mad grin on his face as he brought the knife down toward Nela. Her eyes followed the gleaming blade and a burst of fear exploded in her body. She didn’t want to die. It was ironic that she realized it when it was too late.

  A shadow moved in the corner of her eye and before the knife could pierce her heart, Darko threw himself in front of her. Everything seemed to slow down as Nela watched the knife impale itself in his chest. A silent scream tore itself from her throat. Darko staggered, his own Atlame sticking out of his master’s throat. The man’s eyes were still directed at her.

  Darko fell back, his hand still curled around the hilt of his knife. The blade slid out of the old man’s throat and blood gushed everywhere. It sprinkled on Nela’s bound wrists and arms, and she fought even harder against her restraints. The Master’s eyes were wide and incredulous. He was gurgling, blood bubbling out of his mouth and then his eyes clouded over and he stumbled back. The glowing strands between the old man and the jars flickered out, and every jar in the room burst into millions of glass shards as the hearts in them exploded.

  Nela turned her face away and pressed her head into the stone, but she could feel the shards and flesh rain down on her. With a click, the chains fell off her. Her eyes found the dead old man lying in his own blood on the stone floor, throat gaping open. That was why she was no longer bound. His magic didn’t last after his death. She flung herself off the altar, her legs stiff. Darko was lying next to her feet, his eyes on her. She fell to her knees beside him. He parted his blood-covered lips to speak and Nela leaned to down to hear what he was saying. “I’m sorry, Nela. I think I loved you.” Then his eyes focused on something above her and they grew wide before he lost consciousness.

  Nela felt a cold breeze press down on her and she lifted her face in time to see a black shape – the demon – diving in her direction. Her eyes quickly registered the red pentagram around her and she thrust herself over the painted lines, hoping it would stop the demon from entering her body. Gasping she lay on her side and had to watch the swirling blac
k smoke push into Darko’s lifeless body.

  Nela sat up slowly, dread filling her. Darko was already dead, so the demon couldn’t use him. Or was he? Darko’s body twitched and he sucked in a deep breath, his chest expanding. Slowly he sat up, his movements not quite right, like a marionette controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer. His heaving back faced Nela.

  “Darko?”

  He shook himself. He got to his feet in a smooth motion, the jerkiness gone and no sign that he’d been stabbed in the chest. He turned his face to her and Nela became very still, like a mouse sitting in front of a snake. There was no sign of Darko in his eyes. They’d always been dark but now they were like bottomless pits. The demon was in control. The knife was still sticking out of his chest. He seized the hilt, his gaze never leaving her, and then he pulled the blade out. Blood covered it and his clothes, but his wound was already closing up.

  “Darko?”

  A snarl twisted his lips and he raised the knife. Nela stumbled to her feet and ran toward an arched, wooden door. She flung it open and staggered through it into a round room. She could hear steps behind her but she didn’t dare look. For the first time, she called the shadows upon herself and they came quickly, undoubtedly drawn in by all the heartbreak she was feeling, and briefly she wondered if it wouldn’t be better if she let the Darko-demon catch her, but then she let the shadows carry her away. The last thing she saw was Darko hurling the knife in her direction but then she was gone. She wasn’t even sure where she was going when she landed on grass. She tumbled to the ground. She stared up at jagged rocks and the starry night-sky. Her subconscious had taken her back to the Extern Stones, the place where she’d spent the last night with Darko, where she’d given him her love and trust, only to have it flung back at her like dirt. The place where he’d made love to her, knowing he was going to sacrifice her for his crazy Master.

  Fury made her feel light-headed and she could feel the familiar tingling of magic in her fingertips.

  She was done with being used, done with being hurt and hunted, done with being ashamed of what she was, done with hiding who she wanted to be.

  Maybe she’d lost everyone she loved, but this wasn’t the end. She’d get revenge.

  Chapter 33

  Nela materialized in the underground chamber, swaying back and forth, still unaccustomed to traveling by shadow on her own. But she could and that was all that mattered. That was one of the things she was grateful for. That and that Darko had taken her to the Chandelier Hall before so the magical barriers recognized and didn’t repel her.

  Most eyes in the bar were directed at her. She supposed she was quite a sight, dressed in blood-covered clothes. About half of the tables were occupied. Mikael sat in his usual spot, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He too was looking her way.

  She didn’t bother going to the bar to order something to drink. That wasn’t the reason why she was here. She headed straight for Mikael, who lowered his glasses to let his pale eyes wander demonstratively over her body. She took the seat across from him and rested her scratched and cut hands on the tabletop. “Where’s Darko?” Mikael asked. He appeared the slightest bit unsettled by her appearance. Was there fear in them?

  Her chest tightened. “Gone.”

  “What happened?”

  Nela glared at the flickering candle. “He wanted to help his Master summon a demon by sacrificing me and somehow ended up stuck with the thing in his body. It’s in control. It’s using him like a body suit.” She was satisfied with how cold she made the words sound. Darko didn’t deserve her grief. Apologies didn’t change that.

  Mikael’s mouth fell open. Sadness crossed his expression but it was gone quickly. “Demons use living hosts. They drain them slowly and leave them for dead when they move onto another host, especially if it was an unwilling possession.”

  She couldn’t look Mikael in the eyes. “I don’t care about him anymore. Not after what he did.”

  “Be that as it may. We can’t let a demon run around. We have to find a way to get Darko’s soul back and banish the demon. We need a necromancer for that, but that won’t be a problem, I suppose.” The corners of his mouth twitched in the imitation of a smile, but he couldn’t hide the unease in his eyes. He feared her. Good. Soon he wouldn’t be the only one.

  “No, it won’t,” she said quietly. “But I don’t know much about my powers. Nobody can teach me. And that’s not why I came anyway. I know you hate the Brotherhood and I want to help you bring them down.”

  Mikael linked his fingers with a calculating expression. “I think I know of a way for you to get both, Darko and revenge.”

  Nela didn’t bother telling him that she didn’t want Darko back. She’d probably end up killing him herself if she ever saw him again. Yet the tightness around her chest loosened slightly. “And what would that be?”

  “We’ll ask your murderous necromancing Uncle for help.” He held out his hand.

  Nela laughed, then realized that he wasn’t joking. She shook his hand. “Okay.” If that was what it took, then she wouldn’t hesitate. She didn’t care whom she’d have to ask for help to reach her goal. Nothing would stop her from bringing down every single member of the Brotherhood.

  About the Author

  Susanne Winnacker studied law before she became a full-time writer. She lives with her husband, two dogs and two bunnies in Germany. She loves coffee (in every shape and form), traveling and animals. When she isn’t writing, you can usually find her in the kitchen, experimenting with new vegan and vegetarian dishes.

  www.susannewinnacker.com

  Other books from Susanne Winnacker:

  The Other Life

  The Life Beyond

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  Impostor

  Defector