The Fell of Dark

by Caleb Roehrig

  “We are the only enemy to pose Azazel a true threat,” Ket begins, unruffled, “and two of our sisters perished long ago at the hands of ones who would see us fail. To show ourselves is to invite danger, to risk disrupting the necessary course of events.”

  “How am I supposed to believe you?” It’s not an idle question; ever since I sat down, I’ve been trying to get inside these women’s heads—to search their memories and examine their intentions—but, again, there’s some kind of wall between us. “All I know for sure is that you’re vampires, and that makes Azazel your one-way ticket to fun in the sun.”

  “We have had more than enough time on this planet,” Sulis answers dryly. “We are among the oldest beings to walk the Earth, and our feet are tired from it. Eternal life is not the prize you seem to think it is.”

  “Almost a thousand years ago, Azazel offered to seat us at his right hand when he Ascended.” Brixia gives a bored shrug. “We would be second only to him in his kingdom, sharing in inconceivable power. It was an attempt to sway us from our mission to destroy him—and we declined.”

  “We do not fear death.” Ket lifts her chin. “And if dominion is what we sought, we have the strength to claim it on our own. We are here because nature demands balance, and we are Azazel’s counterweight. When he is gone, our time will be up.”

  “If we wished a place in his kingdom, all that would have been required of us was silence,” Sulis notes. “The prophecy would fulfill itself, and our lack of intervention would have proven our allegiance.”

  This, at least, is a point I’m not sure I can argue. Rasputin, the Syndicate, the League … they all have visions for a future that depend upon controlling the Corrupter, but even if none of them interfered at all, they’re still Azazel’s children—they’d all have a place in his literal hell on Earth. Either these witches are telling the truth, or … well, or they’re not. Maybe they really are planning to expedite the Ascension rather than stop it.

  I’m aware that Brixia is reading my thoughts like ticker tape, absorbing them as quickly as they come to me, and despite her placid expression I squirm. “How do I even know this is possible? I mean, you’ve been following him around like groupies for thousands of years—if you can actually do this, then why haven’t you zapped him already?”

  “We’ve never had the chance,” the alabaster witch answers simply. “When Azazel Rises, even when he takes over a body completely, he still shares it with a human soul. Mortality limits his power, prevents him from fulfilling his design for a hell on Earth—but it also shields him. Right now, your spirit and his are tangled together.”

  “If we were to reach into you and tear him free, we would uproot your soul as well,” Ket elaborates, her tone reasonable. “And were we to then cast Azazel into hell, you would go with him, damned to a lake of fire for an eternity of incomprehensible suffering.”

  “Oh.” My mouth tastes like cardboard and battery acid.

  “‘Vengeance is mine … saith the Lord,’” Sulis quotes with a wistful aspect. “We could take your life easily enough, but we cannot decide the everlasting fate of a mortal soul—even if we wished. Even if we judged your unjust damnation an acceptable cost. There are mystical boundaries on this plane that even the strongest magic cannot transgress.”

  “But this is the Ascension.” Brixia’s eyes inflame, a low, kindling light. “For the first time, Azazel will at last divorce himself from his host’s humanity—he will finally become his own for a single, indefensible instant.”

  “All of this is foretold, though. I’ve got four different cults on my ass, and then you guys playing mind games, all because some prophecies say I’m the guy and the time is now.” This is the heart of it—the thing I can’t escape from—and my voice shrinks. “You obviously believe them, and it’s not like any of the writings have been wrong, either. So … so why should I believe you’re here to stop it, or that it can even be stopped at all?”

  “Only a fool believes in fate,” Brixia replies. “The future is a web, August Pfeiffer, not a line, and its construction changes all the time. Every day, some strands are built and some are plucked, and it is we who create the so-called inevitable.”

  “A week ago, you knew exactly where I was going to be this morning,” I point out in disbelief. “But even I didn’t know that! I didn’t stop on that corner for any reason—it was totally random. It wasn’t even on my usual route to school!”

  “It was a matter of probability,” she says vaguely, and the three of them stand up together. “Here.” Brixia holds something out to me—a set of keys—and I blink up at her. “You’ve found your safe house. This apartment will remain empty and unbothered for the remainder of the week. We will wait to hear from you.”

  “Whether you trust us or not, we are the only ones who can give you what you truly desire.” Ket gazes at me, unblinking. “Whatever happens in four days’ time, the Corrupter will not survive the Ascension. But if you cooperate with us, we will do our best to see that you do.”

  With that, the three witches join hands and vanish, leaving behind nothing but a ribbon of vapor that gradually dissolves into the golden air.

  31

  If you cooperate with us. As if they don’t already know what I’ll do—as if I even have a real alternative. The Syndicate wants dominance, Rasputin wants chaos, Viviane wants utopia, and the Brotherhood wants a world cleansed of the undead … but the only thing none of them want is for me to walk away from this. Supposing the witches are lying, I’ve still got nothing to lose. And if they’re being honest, they really are promising me exactly what I’ve lately been too scared to hope for.

  Or, almost exactly. They said nothing about helping me get my parents back, and I don’t think it was an oversight. Getting rid of Azazel without me dying in the process is an objective we all conveniently share right now, but that doesn’t mean they’ve been hanging out for thousands of years just to do me a few special favors. My parents are collateral that only I care about, and no matter who I side with, no one is going to save them but me—and I have to figure out how before I’m separated from the Corrupter, one way or another.

  Ximena offers me a few encouraging words, and then she departs with Marcus and Lydia, leaving me alone in the apartment. The silence is earsplitting, and I shove aside the thick drapes, daylight dazzling and cold over the endless blue of Lake Michigan. For a while I just stand there, immobilized, looking out over this neighborhood I don’t know—tallying up the hours I’ve got left until the moment I either live or die.

  A knock at the door sends my heart skyrocketing, and I spin on my heel, my chest so tight I can’t breathe. Whoever is in the hallway outside, it’s not a vampire, because I can’t sense them; and if the Brotherhood somehow followed me here—

  “Auggie?” The voice is muffled—but I know it. “Don’t be scared, it’s just us!”

  When I fling open the door to find Hope and Adriana waiting tensely in the hallway, I burst into unashamed tears. “W-what are you guys doing here? Didn’t you leave?”

  “Not a chance!” Adriana pushes me back inside, throwing her arms around me.

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your thoughts,” Hope says, her cheeks pink, “but I could tell how freaked out you were down in the lobby. We figured you might want some company afterward.”

  “We hid until Marcus and Abuela left, and then we came up.” Adriana wraps her arms around me a little tighter. “This is the apartment where they met with Hope, too.”

  I’m a wreck; I can’t stop crying, and I can’t stop hugging them. We shuffle to the sofa as a unit and collapse into it, and within a few minutes I’ve told them everything. The girls hold hands while they listen, and there’s a tiny ache in my heart, but this time only a fraction of it is envy. I’m glad they have each other. I don’t want the world to end for them.

  “I’m still not sure I trust the coven,” I admit, squeezing my hands together in my lap. “But it’s not like they’re just going to leave if I
say I won’t play ball.” A lump forms in my throat, and it takes me two tries to swallow it down. “Apparently, Friday night is when it’s all supposed to go down, and they’ll come for the Corrupter whether I make it easy or not.”

  “They’re not the only ones,” Adriana chimes in fretfully. “Those Knights won’t care if this thing comes back in a hundred years, so long as they stop the apocalypse—and even if they learn about the coven, they won’t take chances. They’re still going to want you dead.”

  “And the vampires will want to keep you alive.” Hope bites her lip. “They’ll just raise the pressure—try to make you pick one of them before it’s too late.”

  “Why are you here?” Adriana blurts the question, swinging her arms around. With the sun shining through the windows, the apartment is spare but cheerful; it has molded ceilings, exposed brick walls, and a small kitchen with a floor of checkered tile. “They could have taken you anywhere—like Bhutan, or Patagonia, or whatever. Somewhere nobody would ever think to look for you. We’re not even an hour away from home!”

  Hope shakes her head glumly. “All of this started with the Nexus—its power is what drew the Corrupter here, and they’ll need it to drive the Corrupter out.” Another faint smile pulls at her lips as she adds, “Secret information courtesy of my uncle’s private thoughts. He, Lydia, and Ximena need the boost from the overlapping energy fields to wield the magic that’ll be required. If Auggie leaves Fulton Heights, it won’t prevent the Ascension from happening, but it might keep them from being able to stop it.”

  “Oh.” Adriana blanches a little. “I like here, then. Here is good.” There’s a brief silence as she looks around the apartment again, squirming like there’s something inside of her trying to get out. A tear rolls down her cheek, and finally, she blurts, “I’m so sorry, Auggie. I’m sorry this is happening, and I’m sorry I can’t help, and I’m just … sorry. None of this is fair.”

  And that’s when I lose it again, because of course Adriana would be the one person to say what I’ve needed to hear. It takes me a long moment to steady my breathing and get to a place where I can speak, and I clear my throat. “Actually, I think maybe there is something you can do. I might have … kind of a plan, and I need someone I can actually trust to help me.”

  “Anything.” Adriana reaches out and takes my hand, linking the three of us together, and I feel a rush of love—and a little bit of steel.

  I’m going to save my parents if it’s literally the last thing I do.

  32

  After they leave, I look around, finding just enough food and supplies in the apartment to last me to Friday … and no longer. I also discover a trove of strange items under the sink that I don’t understand—candles, rocks, a seashell, and some other things—and I leave them where they are, because the last thing I need now is to get hexed by a bunch of undead sorceresses for playing with their stuff. I have peanut butter for lunch, then mac and cheese for dinner, and I sit in the empty living room while I watch the sky go from rose to navy to black over the water. Stretching my radar as far as it will go, I reach out for familiar signals—but the vampires who watched my house for weeks haven’t found me here, and I don’t think they will. Cars stream along Lake Shore Drive, the sounds of the city drifting up from fourteen stories below, and somehow, impossibly, I start to hope again.

  What if this could be my life? What if I actually survive until graduation, move to a city with rainbow-stickered doors, look through my own windows at a world that continues turning? Maybe my life doesn’t have to end in tragedy and become someone else’s story to tell, after all.

  Maybe I’ll actually get to tell it myself.

  * * *

  As the sun sets the next evening—three more days to go—I pull out that strange collection of witchy things I found under the sink. Over the past day, I’ve finally come to realize something I should have understood about them from the beginning. Somehow, despite seeing the future multiple times, I still missed what was right in front of me.

  Clearing my mind, I reach out for my two remaining allies. I’m miles away from Fulton Heights, and this power is changing every day, but I’ve been inside both their heads before, and finding them again—even at a great distance—proves easier than I expected. All I have to do is plant a suggestion, and within minutes I know that first one of them and then the other is on the way.

  The next time there’s a knock at my door, that recognizable whisper is already traveling over my skin, and his scent even seems to hang in the air—lemongrass and cigarettes. When I open the door, Jude Marlowe appears nervous, his brow furrowed, his pouty lips turned down at the edges. He’s wearing the same jacket and ripped jeans he had on the day we met, and I try not to check out his knees. I need to play it cool.

  “August.” He peers past me, looking into the empty apartment. “What … am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story.” I don’t elaborate, because whatever I think I can count on him for, it’s still better to share only what’s necessary. He still works for the Syndicate. “You can come in. I mean, if you need an invitation. I don’t own the place, so…”

  He crosses the threshold and stops in front of me, worried eyes studying my face. “You disappeared yesterday. I went looking for you, and you were gone, and I … I started to panic. I thought maybe Rasputin—”

  “Don’t worry, I’m okay.” I’m stating the obvious, but I’m a little flustered. I’d planned on offering Jude a seat, playing the part of considerate host, but he’s standing really close to me—his lips are really close to mine—and there’s this constant woogah woogah siren coming from between my legs now. I’m a mess. “I kind of had to get out of town.”

  He nods automatically, and his expression doesn’t change. “A group of Syndicate enforcers are due to arrive in Chicago tonight, and … there’s going to be more of them than I was told to expect. According to Hecuba, the Syndics are breaking into unofficial factions—and to be perfectly honest, I’m afraid of what’s coming.”

  “You’re not the only one.” My voice cracks, because of course it fucking does. I still can’t believe a guy like this actually kissed me on purpose. “Um … I kind of need to do something a little invasive? And I hope it’s cool with you. Because it’s non-negotiable.”

  It’s another thing I’m not even sure I can do until I’m actually doing it. Just like the web of time that Brixia described, Jude’s memory is a complicated structure being built a strand at a time; with a bit of care and focus, I detach just the right ones. By the time he leaves this apartment, he won’t recall where it is or how he got here—and if he tries to send any telepathic messages to vampires in his lineage, I’ll overhear it. I think I trust him … but the less he knows, the less he can be forced to divulge later.

  Just as I’m finishing up, that sensation prickles my skin again, and the air is suddenly scented with mint and linen—Gunnar is here. When I let him inside, he and Jude eye each other awkwardly, and the air thickens with their confused emotions. It’s a conversation I can’t help overhearing, a loud mix of hurt, longing, and resentful lust.

  “Auggie?” Gunnar slides me a wary look, tousled hair falling in his face. The feelings he has for me are equally palpable, and I try not to blush as I register them. “I’m kind of afraid to ask what’s going on. Is this your safe house?”

  I mumble a yes noise, once again choosing to elide the details. “Thanks for coming. I brought you guys here because you both promised to help me at one point, and I … well, whatever chips I’ve got, I’m cashing them all in.”

  “Oh.” Gunnar takes a seat on the sofa, and I catch myself staring at his legs. What is it with me and leg parts? “This doesn’t have anything to do with all the Syndicate foot soldiers coming to town, does it?”

  Jude starts visibly. “How did you—” He catches himself, his expression tightening, and he narrows his eyes. “Why is August wearing your necklace?”

  “Because I gave it
to him.” Gunnar’s tone drips with smug satisfaction.

  “Stop.” I hold both of my hands up. “You guys have eternity to flirtagonize and pretend you don’t still want to bone, but there’s a really good chance that literal Armageddon is coming in a few days, and I need your help. So can you focus for a second?”

  Chastened, Jude sits down in one of the chairs while I work my memory magic on Gunnar, and when I’m done, he states primly, “I know I promised to help you, August, but there are certain things I cannot talk about in front of him. The League of the Dark Star operates outside the Syndicate’s directives, and that makes them our enemies.”

  “Enemies,” Gunnar repeats, rolling his eyes like there’s a camera on him. “That’s always how it is with you, isn’t it? Either I do everything you say, or I’m the enemy. You’re so obsessed with ‘directives’ invented thousands of years ago that you can’t even imagine there’s a way to exist without them and not be evil. You’re such a Virgo, Jude!”

  “Excuse me—”

  “Knock it off!” I interrupt them both—again. “Back to your corners, okay? Believe it or not, I didn’t bring you here to play couples therapy.”

  “I’m sorry.” Slumping back, Gunnar crosses his arms over his chest and glares. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that.”

  He’s being deliberately provocative, but I don’t even care; two more minutes of this and I’ll set them both on fire with my brain. Quickly, I state, “There’s a chance that the Ascension can be stopped after all.” When I have their attention, both of them staring, I feel a tremor of possibility. “I don’t know how likely it is, but I’m going to take it, and if it doesn’t work … well, you need to know I’m not letting this thing out into the world.”

  “Auggie.” Gunnar reaches for his chest, seeming to forget he isn’t wearing his necklace anymore. “If you’re talking about … ending your own life, there’s no point in trying—the Corrupter won’t let you. When he manifests in a new body, he links his survival imperative to the vessel’s subconscious. By the time you started dreaming about his past lives, it was already too late. Even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to go through with it.”