The Fell of Dark

by Caleb Roehrig

  “Mind control?” I perk up immediately, thinking about all the math homework I’m going to get other people to do for me. I mean, yes, an ancient entity may be taking over my body and so forth, but at least I won’t have to fail algebra again.

  “There are also some dubious claims of pyrokinesis and levitation, but—”

  “Levitation?” My eyes bulge. “Are you kidding me? Like … you mean I’m going to be able to float? And read people’s minds, and see the future, and … and I don’t know what pyrokinesis is. Some kind of Greek yogurt?”

  “The ability to generate and control fire.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Auggie!” Daphne laughs a little. “It’s not like you’d be turning into a wizard or something. If this is real, if the Rising is really what’s happening, you have an entity slowly regaining its consciousness inside of you.”

  The mood in the air darkens so quickly it’s as if the stars are swept out of the sky. Images of Jude—dead, blistered by the plague, the blood in his stomach replicating and spreading—fill my thoughts. “Like what happens to a vampire?”

  She looks at me and then glances away. “Not exactly. From what I understand, it’s more like … possession. The Corrupter expands within the person, alongside their consciousness, sharing their body.”

  My stomach rolls and vaults upward, and the only reason I don’t puke is because of a lump in my throat the size of a decorative gourd. My worst fear has gone from “grandma’s rag doll” to “being spiritually double-penetrated by an ancient ghost” in the space of two days. Hoarsely, I manage, “And then what?”

  “Well, that’s just it—nobody knows.” Daphne shrugs helplessly. “Even when it Rises, the Corrupter is confined by the body it inhabits; it’s an awakening rather than a transformation. With vampirism, bodies stop aging, they do things that defy human physiology, and they can’t be killed except by several very specific means.” She shuffles her feet. “If the old records are to be believed, the vessel’s mortality is what has ultimately prevented the Corrupter from wreaking total havoc. That contains it, limits its powers, and leaves it vulnerable to all the same things that kill humans. Age, disease, starvation—”

  “Executions,” I croak out, gagging on the memory of smoke in my lungs. “So that’s what the Ascension is? Escaping mortality?”

  “Again, according to a lot of sketchy writings from thousands of years ago,” Daphne begins, miserable, “the Ascension is when the Corrupter exceeds the vessel—possibly meaning that it jumps free, but … most likely meaning that it jailbreaks the body altogether from the hold of mortality.”

  “So a transformation after all. A takeover,” I interpret in a stricken tone, feeling hollow inside. It’s ironic, I guess, given that my body has apparently never been more full. “Best-case scenario is this thing will pop out of me like a stripper from a birthday cake, and worst-case is that … one day I’m just going to Turn into Vampire Santa Claus.” Stomach roiling, my mouth dry, I ask, “How am I supposed to bring day-walking and true immortality to all the good little vampires, anyway?”

  “That’s another thing that’s missing from the prophecies.” She shakes her head. “The most popular theories are that it’s either bestowed through touch—some sort of vampiric benediction—or else … that the vessel’s blood becomes charged with magic, and by sharing it, the Corrupter can imbue the undead with its gifts.”

  My face is stiff with cold, my hands hurt, and my toes have no sensation at all anymore; but every part still feels like me—like my body. Is this real? Is there something inside me right now, getting stronger all the time? My throat closes as I whisper, “Why me?”

  “There’s no good answer to that, either.” Daphne’s eyes shine with sympathy. “When it comes to the Corrupter, there have always been more rumors than facts, and most prophecies are barely intelligible. But the seers whose visions were the most precise talk about an Ascension taking place in this age.” Her mittens come together as she wrings her hands. “They describe a vessel born under certain planetary influences, exhibiting specific traits, living at a meeting point of two ley lines, and … well, it’s you, Auggie. There’s just no one else, anywhere or at any time, that meets the criteria the way you do.”

  My back goes stiff, every last one of my star-crossed atoms suddenly clanging with alarm—and not because my Leo sun and Scorpio moon are apparently written down in some moldy, supernatural library book, either. Backing up, I ask, “How do you know that?”

  “What do you mean?” Daphne drops her hands. She doesn’t look as cold as I feel.

  “How do you know what ‘planetary influences’ I was born under?” I step back again. “How do you know I’m the only one who meets the criteria?”

  “Auggie—”

  “Who are you?” My eyes go hot and blurry, a week’s worth of ugly surprises overwhelming me, suspicions as black as the starless sky exploding in my mind.

  Her shoulders slump. “I told you who I am. I’m Daphne Banks, I’m good at math, and … I’m a Knight with the Brotherhood of Perseus.” She doesn’t move closer, not even when I take a third step back, and the sadness in her eyes is what finally makes me stop. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before—I couldn’t. The truth is, Auggie … I’m not a student at Northwestern. And it’s not a coincidence that I’m part of an organization of vampire-killing warriors. The Brotherhood sent me here. I was … I’m assigned to watch you.”

  One tear spills down my cheek, and I scrub it away with shaking fingers. I’m staring at her, waiting for her to peel off her rubber Daphne mask, or to say that this is some elaborate prank. She’s been tutoring me for nearly six months, and the whole time she’s been spying on me, keeping secrets about me—it’s too much to process. “H-how?”

  “I’m sorry it’s coming out this way.” Daphne’s forehead knots, her voice thinning with nerves. “I’d hoped that nothing would happen—that you’d pass algebra and never have to know anything about me at all. But the Brotherhood has been aware of those prophecies for generations, and they always meant to place someone on the inside. When it became clear that you were the vessel, they sent me in.” Hugging herself, she adds, “Everyone who wears the emblem of Perseus pledges their life to guard humankind against supernatural dangers. The point wasn’t to trick you, Auggie, it was to protect you. The only reason the Syndicate is interested is because they’re hoping the legends are true, and that they can somehow control the Corrupter when it Ascends!”

  “You’ve been lying to me.” My voice is still broken, and more hot tears slip down my cheeks. “For months. How am I supposed to believe you?”

  “I’m sorry, Auggie,” she repeats, her tone soft and small. “I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to understand that I would never hurt you.” Daphne looks me in the eye as she says it, snowflakes feathering her lashes. “Part of the reason I came here was to keep the Syndicate from shutting you away in some secret laboratory where you’d be experimented on. If there’s any way to stop this prophecy from coming true, the Brotherhood will find it.”

  “So you think it’s real.” A frigid wind gusts across the parking lot, cutting through the fabric of my coat. “Inside you acted like it was a hoax, but now you’re talking about trying to stop it—so all of this is bullshit. The only thing you’re really here to make sure of is that the Syndicate won’t turn into a bunch of unkillable day-walkers who can extend the same power to, like, seventy-five percent of the world’s vampires.”

  Daphne’s jaw shifts, and she rolls her shoulders. “All right. Touché. Six months ago, maybe the main thing I cared about was … well, that. But I’m not your enemy, Auggie. Just because I agreed to come here and, and…”

  “And insinuate yourself into my life under false pretenses,” I supply coldly.

  “And watch over you,” she amends, “doesn’t mean I believe that the Corrupter is anything more than a fantasy—”

  “Bullshit!” I shout loud enough that Daphne glances aro
und to see if we’re overheard. We’re probably fifty yards from the mall’s entrance, standing in an empty space between an SUV and a compact car, all alone with a bunch of lies and secrets and possibly one slowly metastasizing parasitic entity trying to take over my entire fucking body. “Stop bullshitting me!”

  “Whether I personally believe in the Corrupter or not doesn’t even matter,” Daphne finally snaps, mettle sparking in her eyes. “What matters is that there are a lot of incredibly unstable vampires in this world that absolutely do believe in it, and with the kind of foaming-at-the-mouth zeal that makes the Salem witch trials look like a fucking game show.” She takes a step forward, closing the gap between us, her eyes still locked on mine. “You’re not safe, Auggie. That’s what I’ve—”

  She doesn’t finish. Her eyes go wide, her head jerking up, and she throws herself backward a split-second before something streaks through the empty space where she was just standing. With a thump and a hiss, an object plunges into the front tire of the compact beside us—a blade of some kind, its hilt sticking five inches out of the thick rubber—and the car shudders as air erupts from the sudden puncture.

  Daphne doesn’t even have time to regain her balance before a black-clad figure glides soundlessly over the top of the SUV. Face hidden by a ski mask and tinted goggles, he drops between us with a second blade clutched in one gloved hand. Gleaming viciously under the electric safety lamps is a foot-long katana—and it’s aimed straight at my heart.

  10

  The sword swings at my neck, and I lurch backward, my feet hitting ice and going out from under me, the blade whistling past by an inch. I land hard, pain shooting through my elbow, and I stare up at my attacker in disbelief. A neoprene bodysuit hugs a wiry but masculine frame, and the gear masking his face makes him look monstrous and surreal. He raises the sword, and I cry out as he prepares to lunge—but that’s when Daphne recovers.

  With balletic grace and surprising power, she spins backward and slams her foot into the mysterious ninja’s hip, taking him off his feet. The man hurtles sideways, striking the rear bumper of the SUV and setting off its car alarm before crashing to the pavement, slewing over ice and fresh snow. Ripping her mittens off and wrenching the second katana free from the ruined tire of the compact car, Daphne shouts, “Run, Auggie!”

  It’s great advice, but where to? There are still plenty of shadows in this parking lot, and even in my panic I have no reason to assume this actual sword-wielding assassin came alone. I don’t even know what he is, or what kind of friends he might have out there. My skin is crawling again, but I don’t know if that means “vampire,” or if it means a ninja is trying to kill me.

  Ignoring Daphne’s directive, I scuttle along the damaged compact as she advances on our attacker, putting myself on the safer side of the experienced vampire killer. And as she spins the blade with clearly practiced hands, carving loops out of the snowy air, I have to admit that she looks every inch the warrior she claims to be.

  The ninja rights himself, rocking onto his haunches, evaluating his opponent; and then he leaps, springing forward, swiping his katana at Daphne in a deadly arc. She parries the blow with a violent clash of metal, dancing back a step as the man’s feet touch the ground, and then their battle truly begins.

  They move so fast I can’t keep up. The swords blaze under the streetlamps, and their bodies whirl, counter, and collide as the twin blades meet again and again. Twice, Daphne manages a surprise attack—once a kick to the man’s knee while deflecting a blow, and then a strike to his midsection as she dodges a forward thrust. But the masked man repays the favor, an unexpected swing ripping through the front of her coat. When she stumbles back, the fabric gapes open, the cut so deep the skin of her stomach is visible.

  She doesn’t even slow down. They charge back together with two-handed grips, the clanging blows getting louder. I can practically feel the car alarm in my back teeth, and I finally remember my cell phone, wondering if I should call the police. Despite being trained to expect trouble with vampires, the authorities have been historically shitty at fighting them—fangs beat guns every time.

  Reeling from another kick to the chest, the ninja regroups and charges, his katana slashing the air. He leaps, kicking off the side of the SUV to vault even higher, and Daphne arches back, dodging the blade as she simultaneously lashes out with her own—piercing the stiff neoprene of the man’s bodysuit just as he launches into a sideways flip.

  The motion wrenches the blade from Daphne’s hand, and when the man hits the ground, so does her sword. Metal rings as the katana spins out of sight beneath the SUV, and the ninja staggers back, looking down at the hole my math tutor sliced open over his right flank. Six inches of pale skin are exposed, along with a bloody but unfortunately shallow flesh wound, and he gazes up at her—his grip tightening on his sword.

  “Auggie,” Daphne begins, backing away from the man, “you really need to run.”

  The ninja advances, slashing and thrusting, and Daphne somehow manages to retreat from each attack until her heels hit the front tire of the compact and she falls over the hood. Lifting his blade, the man makes to impale her clean through the heart, but she seizes his wrist with both hands just in time. The tip of the sword is an inch from her chest, and the katana quivers as he struggles to drive it into her body.

  Electrified by adrenaline, I know what I have to do. Diving under the SUV, I grab the lost blade and scramble to my feet. I’ve never even thrown a punch before, but Daphne is fighting to save my life—I’m not running anywhere. Wrapping my fingers tight around the hilt, I blank my mind. I hope I don’t run him through and end up stabbing Daphne; I hope that if he dies, his ghost doesn’t haunt me; and I hope I don’t fuck this up.

  But I do, of course. I don’t make it two steps before he swings around, swiping his katana at mine so hard the blade is knocked from my half-numb hands. He lunges at me, and I almost fall on my ass again, but Daphne springs up from the compact’s hood with a vengeance. Kicking the back of his knee, she drops him into a kneel, and in a flash, the wooden stake she brandished at Jude appears in her hand again. Plunging it down, she buries it in his shoulder.

  The masked man emits a guttural screech, toppling sideways. Blood splashes the pavement as he scrambles away, one-handed, dragging himself to his feet and limping into a run. Daphne scoops up his sword from where he dropped it and flings it after him as hard as she can, but it crashes against the side mirror of a sedan as the man vanishes behind it.

  “Damn it.” Daphne bends over, her hands on her knees. “Damn it.”

  “I can’t … I can’t…” I can’t figure out what to say. “I can’t fucking believe that! That was an actual fucking swordfight, and you were amazing!”

  “I’m a warrior, Auggie.” In spite of everything, she actually manages a faint laugh. Her hair is disheveled, her coat is ruined, and she very nearly got killed by a ninja in the parking lot of a dying mall, but somehow she’s smiling. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been training for a fight like that.” Then, looking around, “We really need to go.”

  Even in the mostly deserted lot, the SUV’s alarm is attracting attention. People have emerged from the main doors of the Colgate Center, watching from a distance as we race for Daphne’s Saab. No matter how I felt when we first left the food court, I’ve got no problem trusting her anymore—she lied, but she’s more than earned the benefit of the doubt.

  It isn’t until she screeches out of the lot, swerving onto the road leading back into town, that my endorphin high vanishes and I finally lose it. My nose runs, my eyes fill with tears, and I quake so badly it takes me three tries to open my messaging app.

  “What are you doing?” Daphne demands, her voice as sharp as the sword she was just fighting with.

  “I’m texting my m-mom!” I make a disgusting noise and then wipe my nose on my sleeve, for lack of anything better. Which is … also disgusting. “Some guy just tried to kill—”

  “Stop!” Without ev
en glancing over, she bats the phone from my hands, knocking it into the footwell.

  I stare at her, sure she’s lost her mind. “What the hell? I need to warn my parents—”

  “So they can do what?” she challenges, the lights of an oncoming car sweeping across her face. “Think this through, Auggie. What will they do?”

  “They…” I don’t know how to explain what should be obvious. “They’ll call the police—”

  “Who will come out and stop all the vampires, like always?”

  “At least they’ll know!” I’m vehement, my tone rising. “People with guns and stuff will know that killers are after me—how is that a bad thing?”

  “So the mayor mobilizes the Fulton Heights police to act as your personal bodyguard service. That’s what you think your parents will do for you?”

  Her sarcasm is more than I can handle. “What is your problem? A guy with actual swords just tried to chop both our heads off, and you’re trying—”

  “I’m trying to make you wake up!” She pounds the dashboard hard enough to startle me into silence. “If you tell your parents that vampires are after you, they’ll take you out of town!”

  “Good!” I declare. “Good. I want to get out of town! I should get out of town. My whole family should!”

  “And then you’ve involved them, and they become obstacles.” Her tone is final, deadly. “The Vampire Syndicate has known about these prophecies for centuries, Auggie. They’re prepared. They sent someone to sweet-talk you, and you said no, but do you really think they’ll let you just fuck off to Ecuador or New Zealand or wherever?” She waits for an answer, but I have none to give. “It’s the digital age, and disappearing—really disappearing—isn’t easy, especially for a bunch of suburbanites with no training or experience. Credit cards, bank accounts, phones, medical records … all those things can be traced. You wouldn’t last a week.